Truly Closer
by x.Trixie.x
Summary: What does it take to get near to the one you most desire? Especially, when the past refuses to STAY in the past. :chaps up to 29:
1. One

**Truly Closer**

Disclaimer: Most of the characters don't belong to yours truly—just felt like altering their lives a bit. No _major_ harm done. ; )

Feedback of any sort is both welcome and appreciated!!! This WILL be a multi-chaptered story. Hope ya'll enjoy!

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**1**.

"He _loves_ me."

Fran Fine pulled a soft, silky white petal from the center of a flower she was currently holding and let it gently fall from her hand, in a flutter, until it abruptly halted at the surface of the kitchen table.

If only those three little words were the undeniable truth. If only those three little words really _meant_ something, because if they did, they sure would mean a lot to her. But then again, if they were true, she wouldn't be doing this in the first place. Hell, she'd probably be hauled up in Mr. Sheffield's office kissing the living daylights out of him and surprisingly, he wouldn't be pulling away.

_Boy, wouldn't that be nice? _thought Fran. _If only __it was so simple. If only MR. SHEFFIED was so simple! Instead the complex, repressed basket case he is._

She hesitated a moment before saying the next words. The words that she had always forced herself not to dwell too much on. The words that hopefully didn't describe the way he felt…

"He loves me _not_."

Fran frowned as she plucked another petal from the creamy center and let it tumble down. Her left hand cradled her head as she twirled the daisy in her right hand, holding it from the stem and sighing. What was she thinking? Of course Mr. Sheffield cared for her, but he didn't love her. And caring and loving a person were too _very _different things altogether. But to sum it all up neat and cleanly, he just wasn't willing to give up his heart—_at all_, because quite frankly, it still belonged to his deceased wife.

That was a fact.

Period.

No ifs ands _or buts_ about it.

The truth was as plain as day and the romantic partner/possible wife interest for her just wasn't there or he would have really acted on it by now. No, instead he decided to pitch this lame "friends" schpeel that would only further push back their so-called "relationship." She had had men tell her before that they loved her even though they didn't mean it, but they never actually took it back. Mr. Sheffield just had to do the impossible. He had said it and taken it back before the turn of twenty-four hours. That had to be a world record or something. Someone should have notified the authorities about this tremendous new talent of his! Never before had she seen a man so pathetically incapable to commit. "It will hurt the children," "This really isn't a good time for us," and "What if things didn't work out?" were his top three favorite excuses among the many others. Fran didn't buy into any of it though, because if he sincerely had any deep feelings for her than it would have been worth the risk. _She_ would have been worth the risk. No matter what! If he loved her,_ truly_ loved her, than he would have taken the damn chance even if the stakes were high.

She sighed once again.

It was positively useless and this petal-picking was so stupid. So ridiculous. So… _juvenile_. Fran Fine was not some naïve little school girl. Well… she _once_ was.

The last time she plucked petals off of a flower she was in her schoolyard during fifth grade. She had sat there during recess on the metal jungle gym plucking off petals from the wildflowers in the school garden, wondering if her crush Timmy Edwards liked her. He had light brown hair and dreamy hazel eyes and well, practically every little girl on the block thought he was hot stuff. Even though the flower said he "loved" her, she soon became disappointed and heartbroken when the next day Timmy was holding hands with Georgia Stenback. Who, was formally known then as the prettiest, snobbiest, most popular girl in the whole entire elementary school.

_He was a dumb boy anyway… wasn't even that good-looking—okay maybe he was but oh well! _

So there was her proof that this stupid flower-picking nonsense was a bunch of bull and a waste of time.

_I mean, what idiot came up with the idea that plucking flowers apart will tell the destiny of your love life? _

Of course it's really just for amusement and she knew that. For fun. That's something that Fran hadn't done in a long time—really _truly_ had fun. Enjoyed herself completely. What did she do that was fun anymore?

For God's sake, she was a Nanny!

That was one thing that she had not foreseen in her mystical crystal ball of the future. I mean, there was the beautiful house in Great Neck, the lovable Jewish doctor husband and a few adorable kids… but the whole working-for-a-widower-to-take-care-of-his three-troubled-but-charming-children was _totally_ unexpected. Her old friends would have laughed their little tocheses off if they knew what she was doing now. "Poor Frannie!" they would have said. "She's stuck taking care of kids and the worst part about it is that they aren't even _hers_!" But oh how she loved them so. They meant the world to her and she had to admit that she was fairly happy with her job. It was only the other aspects of her life that were less than thrilling. She suddenly remembered all the partying, lots of dating and club hopping she used to do and then felt a deep nostalgia for it.

_I wonder what my old friends are doing. What happened to them anyway?_

Truth be told, she hadn't heard from them in ages. _Go figure_. It was just her and Val now, which wasn't so bad.

_After all, Val is a great friend, but she isn't really the "I'm gonna throw caution to the wind" kind of girl!_

She tapped her newly manicured, French-tipped nails on the table, which didn't make that loud of a sound, because the tablecloth muted the noise. Fran had spent yesterday afternoon spilling her heart out to her manicurist Charlene while she was getting her nails done. Charlene, like Fran, was a single woman who hadn't had her best of luck with men recently and was able to relate to Fran's situation. So while Charlene was scraping at Fran's cuticles, Fran was blabbing on about her social life or lack thereof one. There was just something about hairdressers, manicurists and all those other beauty shop employees being so easy to talk to. Fran was a fairly outgoing person though, and didn't mind being open to people about most things. She was also always that unpredictable, crazy, impulsive girl. Fran was the one to take chances. She was the one to do the unthinkable. Hell, she didn't take the _time_ to sit back and worry about the consequences. Fran Fine just didn't think twice. That wasn't her style. With her past being so dangerous, you'd think she would regret it. Yet instead, she envied it. Frankly, she was just plain jealous of the old Fran.

_Am I losing my touch?_

Fran groaned, yanking another petal off the small daisy and uttering the familiar words that followed.

_Wait, I have the feeling that I'm supposed to be doing something. What was it? Darn, I don't even remember… Oh well, I'll just leave it for Niles._

Continuing her task again, which was practically annihilating the poor, tiny flower slowly and painfully; she soon became lost in her own little dreamland. Somewhere in the distance, (or what seemed distant) she could hear Nile's voice while her mind was a million miles away. It was him that brought her back to the present.

"Miss Fine, you're messing up my beautiful flower arrangement!" Niles suddenly appeared, pulling Fran out of her daze and grabbing her flower.

He was wearing an apron covering a lovely baby blue button-up shirt that complimented his eyes perfectly and some khaki trousers that were no doubt borrowed from Mr. Sheffield. He was most likely getting ready to prepare breakfast having it being around eight and all this on this lovely Saturday morning in the spring. Niles turned to stick the deformed, drooping flower back in the turquoise vase on the kitchen table.

"Well I'm sorry Niles, but my future is much more important than your interior decorating," said Fran half serious, grabbing the daisy out of the vase in front of her and then plunging back into the wooden chair.

"Oh, but the flowers were so pretty together and they went perfect with the tablecloth!" whined Niles, faking a temper tantrum by throwing his hands up in the air.

"Niles!"

He huffed and then mumbled quickly, "I paid retail at the florist!"

"What was that Niles?"

Niles removed both hands from the counter he was resting them on.

"I PAID RETAIL AT THE FLORIST, OKAY?!"

"Why?" Fran asked teasingly. "We have flowers outside in the garden."

Niles gasped, putting his hand to his mouth. "And ruin my _prize_ azaleas?"

"Niles, you don't _have_ any _prize _azaleas or… _any_ azaleas for that matter!"

"Yeah, so! The point is, I like my kitchen decorated accordingly and you know I'd make a cute little Martha Stewart!" stated Niles, grinning and doing a pose.

She rolled her eyes and laughed to herself, wondering what the heck he was out doing the night before to be so wild this morning.

"Uh, yeah sure Niles… _you're_ the new Domestic Diva all right! Personally though, I think the little dandelions outside would have worked fine for the vase, but have it your way," said Fran.

"Well, unlike you Nanny Fine, I like to get _high-quality_ things instead of digging in those God-awful discount bins only to get trampy dresses."

She smirked and playfully slapped him on the arm for his Miss Babcock impersonation.

"Which reminds me, I haven't given the old bat her coffee," said Niles, snickering devilishly at exactly what he was going to put in that cup of Joe.

Niles began making Fran's coffee, for the Ice Queen's would take a tad bit longer to brew, because of course he just had to add in his sweaty gym socks from yesterday for that special kick. However, the imitation of the Wicked Witch of the Northeast made Fran somewhat self-conscious, so she reached down to pull the ultra-short skirt of her dress down some while still sitting in the chair.

She didn't dress _slutty_… Fran just preferred to be openly sexy. I mean hey, if ya got it, flaunt it. Babcock was just jealous, even though she did need to pull her skirt down, because ever since she had sat down it _had_ started to ride up her thighs. No need in giving Niles the all-inclusive view, instead she'd save _that_ pleasure for Mr. Sheffield.

After finally pulling herself together both mentally and physically she then asked, "Seriously though, Niles. YOU paid retail? I find that hard to believe."

Niles placed a hot mug of coffee in front of Fran and then said, "Hey, this is the only room in the house that is mine. It's MY kitchen I tell you!"

He took his pointer finger and stabbed it into his chest in emphasis.

"Sheffield can say he owns my bedroom, the potty, and even my privately concealed spying chambers (he coughed) that-no-one-knows-about-mind-you (he coughed again), _but_… Big Daddy's got the dibs on the cooking appliances and the shiny new _knife set_."

Niles had an excited look in his eyes as he manically rubbed his hands together.

"All right Niles, no need to get defensive, I understand," agreed Fran, who couldn't suppress a laugh.

She stirred in some sugar and cream into her French vanilla coffee and watched as it swirled around till it turned really light. Meanwhile, Niles shrugged his shoulders and let them fall way down.

"Well if it makes you feel any better, I'll allow you to pluck a few leaves off the eucalyptus," compromised Niles, sticking the greenery from the vase in front of her. Fran chuckled, blew on her coffee and took a few small sips.

As Niles laid the strand of green down, a few droplets of water dripped onto the table leaving darkening spots amongst the colorful green and blue-checkered tablecloth. Niles gave a charming little smile and then started to wipe it up with his dishrag.

_Dear, sweet Niles. Why is it the people like him that end up being just a butler? _pondered Fran.

"Ni-yullllles, it just isn't the same! I don't want some crummy piece of Eucalyptus, I want the _real thing_!" she whined, pouting back at him and going along with this silly game that they were playing.

A nice flower wasn't the only real thing she wanted. She wanted the real thing as in a potential, decent husband too instead of the quacks she had been recently and frequently dating.

"Wait a second, if there are flowers in the garden, why are you messing up mine?"

Fran stopped from drinking her coffee, laying it down slowly onto the table. She gave him her full attention which consisted of a raised eyebrow at his query.

"Pa-lease Niles, who do you think I am? I'm much too lazy to go out and pick one."

"True,_ very_ true. I am just glad you didn't try to un-petal the lilies—those cost me a bundle. Well, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get breakfast started."

After Niles had begun to prepare some of the food, Fran decided she would work on the rest of the petals left on the flower. Niles had just placed some sausages in a frying pan and some biscuits in the oven for breakfast. He was going to make the eggs and other stuff later after the rest of the food was almost done cooking. While waiting, Niles leaned up against the counter with his covered hands, watching Fran. As soon as she plucked the daisy clean, he offered his congratulations knowing of course that this whole thing was about their boss.

"Well done Miss Fine! You landed on a 'he loves me!'"

His gorgeous sapphire eyes twinkled in delight of her success, but Fran didn't seem to be as happy as he thought she would be. Actually, she didn't appear to be quite happy at all.

"Oh Niles, if only life was so simple. Don't you see? I could pick a field _full_ of daisies and he still won't love me," said Fran, dismally.

Niles pulled off his cooking mittens and took a seat next to her. He ran a hand through his sandy blonde strands.

"Mr. Sheffield?"

"No Little Boy Blue, Niles! Of course, Mr. Sheffield!"

Niles felt bad for Miss Fine once again. She only used sarcasm like this when she was upset. He scanned Fran over. There she was in her cute, white with orange and pink polka-dots mini-dress accessorized with white stiletto heels. She had put in on for her lunch date today with some fellow that Val hooked her up with. Val wasn't the perfect matchmaker, but she did have a pretty good judge of character. So today, Fran's hair was down, big and curly as usual, but something was different. Niles realized that she was somewhat shielding her eyes from him and he knew why. There was much pain and unfulfilled-ness behind those chocolate browns. Maybe Mr. Sheffield couldn't see it, but he sure could.

"Maybe I just happened to have counted all the petals beforehand, you know, so that it would say what I wanted it to…" she admitted, her the ends of her lips curling down into a small frown.

"Miss Fine, it's just a flower, not your fate! You're smart enough to know that," said a surprised Niles, thinking that she was actually buying into this.

"It's just the point of it all Niles! I'm dumb for believing a man like him would fall for an ordinary girl like me!" Fran practically almost hollered, slamming down the piece of eucalyptus on the table that she was nervously fingering. "Why do I put myself through this?"

"First off, you are nowhere near ordinary Miss Fine, you are most extraordinary. Second, you have a lot going for you. Mr. Sheffield is the one who is just plain _stupid_, because I don't know many women who are as lovely and sexy as you are with a heart of gold to match it," said Niles, trying to cheer her up even though everyone including herself knew it was true.

While that compliment did boost Fran's self esteem, she and Mr. Sheffield were not together and that was just upsetting to the highest level possible.

"Yeah, well thank you Niles, but where has that got me? Nothing ever ends up working out. Oy, it's the story of my life."

Upset and on the verge of tears, Fran stood up, stuck the bare stem into the vase and walked out of the kitchen with the door swinging behind her. Niles just sat still in the hard, wooden chair and flicked the remains of the fallen petals around. He felt so defeated and hopeless for a woman frustrated beyond belief, for she was in love with a man who wouldn't give in.


	2. Two

**2.**

"WET WILLLLAAAAAAY!"

Brighton had licked his finger, gathering up much spit from his mouth, and stuck it in Maggie's ear before the poor girl had the chance to register what exactly a 'Wet Willie' was.

Let's just say, now she'll have quite the lasting impression.

"Ew Brighton, that's _gross_!" shrieked Maggie, rubbing her ear and chasing after her younger brother who had taken off with speed.

Niles who was dusting a painting, moved quickly out of the way of the two rivaling siblings so that he would not get bombarded and knocked down. When they had made themselves scarce after lots of yelling and screaming, Niles continued his work on a beautiful, ornate frame with vine carvings, that enclosed a painting of a fruit bowl, until he spotted his one and only, number-one boss-man.

"It's not even noon yet and they're already starting at it sir," commented Niles as his superior had just rounded the corner into the living room.

"It figures," responded Maxwell, disappointedly.

Max stuck his hands in the front pockets of his black tailored pants in frustration. He didn't have to ask anymore, for he knew it was his son teasing one of his sisters again.

Maxwell had just gone over and revised a few scripts with C.C., when he decided to take a break. Max was in a so-so mood this morning. He was a tad bit worried more than usual, because of his in-house meeting with some people that would hopefully be the backers for his next play and provide the necessary before-hand funding. The wealthy folks would be here for quite some time and then Maxwell planned to take them out to a classy restaurant to seal the deal. It was not acceptable to have his children acting up when he was going to be having company and Maxwell was going to have none of that.

_And where is Miss Fine to solve this problem_? he wondered.

He closed his eyes for a second to envision Miss Fine in her playful little dress again that she had on this morning at breakfast and then he smiled in profound satisfaction. Not that he didn't mind her in her robe either, but she had looked _exceptionally_ fetching today if that was even possible. _Fetching_. He really fancied that word. It sounded like whoever was "fetching" was worthy of chasing after and pleasing. He would never tell Miss Fine though, how very fetching he found her to be. Knowing her, she's probably jump to conclusions and think there was actually something serious between them.

He opened his eyes and wondered if she dressed like that for him. Either that or—

He frowned.

_I wonder if she's going out on a date… God, I hope she's not out on a date. She needs to stay here to watch my children at all times. I don't want her going out. She always gets looks from handsome men—and phone numbers! Get a hold of yourself man, it's still early! I'm probably just worrying for nothing. _

Feeling that his hair was out of place, Max walked over to the mirror in the foyer and feathered his hands though his grey streak. He touched the same place Miss Fine had when she imaginarily made up something being in his hair this morning at breakfast. Maxwell wasn't dumb and he knew she just wanted to touch his silky tresses. Just as much as he wanted to touch hers he presumed. Even Miss Fine hadn't briefly taken whatever she said was in his hair out; she buried her slender fingers deep in his curls, lightly grazing his scalp. Their eyes had locked for a second, but of course the cherished moment ended way too soon because they _were_ at the dining room table with everyone around.

Maxwell sighed upsettingly and slowly made his way over to Niles, observing him in his daily duties. Surely he would know where Miss Fine had disappeared off to. After all, Niles knew everything that was going on around him. He was the biggest yenta of them all! Even if a little floorboard upstairs creaked, he'd hear it for sure.

Max decided to try the innocent approach to ask about Miss Fine.

_The children need her, because she's their nanny. Yes, yes that will work_, thought Maxwell.

"Where the heck is Miss Fine when you need her?" questioned Maxwell, scanning the room and taking his hands out of his pockets. "It's her job to watch the children. You know, that_ is_ why I hired her."

He didn't really need her for anything; it was just that he wanted to talk to her. He was quite troubled at why she didn't burst into his office today with some wacko story about her family or some important problem with the children. Maxwell wanted her to hop on the side of his desk in that short dress she was wearing, while he split his time into listening to her story and admiring her lengthy legs. He never feigned interest in Miss Fine's conversations, because he really did like what she had to say. Talking to her was never boring and he enjoyed their little chats immensely. More than he'd let on anyway.

"Out," said Niles curtly, so that his boss would ask more questions.

"What do you mean _out_?" he spat, a hint of outrage showing.

"Oh, you know, on a date…"

Maxwell lowered his eyes and brows at Niles.

"A _date_?" he questioned, in such a way that it seemed as if the word he formed on his tongue was foul and forbidden and he was forcing himself to say it.

"Yeah, sir. You know, when two people are interested in each other they go on outings like dinner, dancing, _movie-going_ and such. Then sometimes they hold hands and if it's a little more intimate—" began Niles, before he was soon interrupted.

"Bloody hell Niles, I think I know what a date is! And isn't a little early to be on a date? I mean, what is it _noon_? How come she didn't mention this at breakfast? How does she know that I didn't need her to watch the children?" he yelled out, with an air of annoyance in his voice.

"Oh well sir, she mentioned it to me and she was very excited about it. Um, do you need someone to watch the children, because I _am_ still here?"

"No."

"Then, er… what's the problem?"

Niles knew that struck a nerve.

"Problem? Who said anything about a problem? There's no _problem_! I couldn't give a horse's bottom about Miss Fine's social life! I'd just prefer if my _employees_ would inform _me_, their _employer_, when they decide to go out! I'll be in my office." declared Maxwell, storming out of the room.

Niles just stared openly at the hallway in which his boss retreated.

"Ouch," said Brighton, who had just descended the stairs with Maggie in tow.

Niles turned around to the direction of the voices, a stunned look smeared across his face.

"Yeah, that was pretty low, even for Dad," continued Maggie, walking over to Niles after her brother.

"I'm guessing you heard," replied Niles, frowning.

"Uh, yeah! He _is_ pretty loud. I think all of Manhattan heard!" responded Brighton as if it was so obvious.

"I can't believe he said that about Fran! Wait till she hears that he called her an employee. She will totally freak!" exclaimed Maggie, shaking her head frantically.

She subsequently opened up her shiny baby-blue purse and checked her wallet for money. Maggie was going to the mall soon and she wanted to make sure she had enough cash to have a good time with her friends.

"And that is why we aren't going to tell her! You both know how your father is and you know he really didn't mean it. Plus she's dating that Julian fellow and she's been in a good mood since she met him at the door. Don't go ruining it for her," said Niles.

"Whoa baby, Julian _is_ dreamy! I'd be in a good mood too. I can't believe he's Val's cousin! I never would have guessed that one," stated Maggie, making an "I'm-very-impressed" face.


	3. Three

**3.**

"Fran, I can't help but tell you again how lovely you look this evening."

Julian Ferarren held his eyes to Fran's, delicately grabbed her hand, and then placed it in his so he could lace their fingers together. They were eating at a restaurant called "Angelo's," which was a very fancy Italian Bistro. After a few moments, he brought her hand to his lips to place a soft kiss on her smooth skin and then returned it back to his grasp.

The tingling wetness left from Julian's lips on Fran's hand had sent a surge of emotional electricity that coursed through her veins and ran throughout her body. He was truly a gentleman, but at the same time so very passionate. Almost like—

_Mr. Sheffield! Just great! He already reminds me of Mr. Sheffield... no. NO! It's not fair to compare them! Plus, Mr. Sheffield doesn't want me. Julian is just Julian and I like him for him. _

"Thank you. _Again_," said Fran, smiling.

"The pleasure is all mine," responded Julian with a suave smirk, locking the dark brown pools of his eyes into hers.

She looked at him and then stared at the white linen napkins wrapped inside of a thick silver ring.

_I really shouldn't be here. I feel bad for not telling Mr. Sheffield personally and I don't know why. Why didn't I just tell Niles to get Mr. Sheffield when I called? He hasn't seen me all day and he's probably all worried sick and ticked off as well. Especially, because I never mentioned anything about this date!_

"My dear, why are you still worrying? You called to notify that you are staying out," said Julian.

"What? Hey, how did you know what I was thinking?" asked a taken aback Fran, with her eyes lowered suspiciously at him.

She continued to hold eye contact.

"Baby, your eyes do not lie to me. I can see your anxiety very clearly."

"I know and I 'm sorry. You're right! They'll be fine without me and I did call to tell them, so it's all taken care of."

Fran reached over and patted Julian's hand that was resting on his leg with hers.

"But of course," responded Jules so simply.

"Oh Jules, I can't believe you made me lunch at your place and then decided to take me out to dinner. That's two dates in one day!" exclaimed Fran, excitedly and breaking into a grin.

It was just the little things like someone dedicating their day to Fran and wanting to spend time with her that delighted her.

"I don't want to let you go so soon," he stated in a deep whisper, while caressing her cheek with his hand and then slowly moving it along her jaw.

Julian then ran the tips of his fingers over her bottom lip. Fran pushed her tongue out to meet them, tasting his skin.

"Neither do I," said Fran in the same trance as him. She then got into a goofy mood and pushed him teasingly. "I just wish you would've let me go home and change."

Julian tugged together the front sides of his navy blue suit jacket so that it would fit around him better, as some of his jacket had crumpled back.

"My darling there is no need. You look beautiful in this and I'm quite certain that you look stunning in everything and anything else." He paused, and then added in a whisper, "Perhaps in _nothing_ at all as well…"

Fran blushed. "_Julian_!"

"So naturally, the only effect you will get out of changing your clothes is more laundry."

"Julian, you're so funny and charming," revealed Fran, giving him a dazzling smile.

"Ah, but so are you. I'm really glad you were friends with my cousin Val and we got to get acquainted."

"So am I."

Fran knew she would definitely have to treat Val to an extra large sundae at Dairy Queen for this one!

She ran her right hand through Julian's thick head of dirty blonde hair and then ended up with her arm resting on his shoulder. The relaxing smooth jazz background music playing through the speakers set a tranquil, romantic atmosphere. So as expected, Julian and Fran just sat in silence for a few minutes, enjoying each others company. Julian had his arm around Fran and he felt very comfortable being so close to her.

Suddenly, Julian pushed Fran up against the back of the plush, maroon booth seat and started fervently placing kisses on her neck.

"Jules, _what_ are you doing?" questioned Fran in a giggly, mischievous voice and pulling back from him. "What's come over you?"

"The dinner is not here yet, we are in a dark and secluded corner of a restaurant, not to mention I find you so terribly tempting," whispered Julian huskily, breathing hot air on her ear.

Fran laughed once again, but it low and enticing.

"Terribly tempting?" asked Fran, her voice raspy.

"Oh, but it's a wonderful terribly tempting if I do say so myself. I must say, I've never been this impulsive before. I'm usually such a gentleman. With you, I—I can't _control_ myself. You bring out some sort of animal in me…" he said, starting to kiss her neck again and then lightly nibbled on the very edge of her ear.

Somewhere in the back of her mind she wished that Mr. Sheffield was the one being this open and affectionate with her, but she quickly shook away the thought. The possibility of that ever happening was highly unlikely and not worth considering, especially while in another man's arms.

Fran giggled again, but this time it was louder and when his lips moved lower on the sweetheart neckline of her dress she practically moaned "Oh, Julian!" softly. That was all Julian needed to hear for his lips to eagerly meet her mouth. They didn't know though, that all of this was enough to capture the attention of a particular portion of the restaurant...


	4. Four

**4.**

"Pardon me, but I need to use the ladies room. I'll be right back."

The fake-dyed redhead named Vivian Montgomery stood up, grabbed her expensive Prada handbag, and then excused herself off to the restroom. She was the wife of Maxwell's to-be backer and she was less than pleasant, so her momentary absence wouldn't matter much. C.C. and Maxwell were now left to chat with the Mister Winston Montgomery himself, who at the moment seemed most dreadfully distracted.

"Your wife seems very nice," stated Maxwell, politely trying to make small talk. He quickly elbowed C.C., so that she would add something to keep the weak chitchat going that they had been viciously struggling to uphold.

"Oh yes, I thought so too myself," joined in C.C., clearly lying through her teeth.

Winston, finally realizing he was being spoken to, promptly gave them his eye contact.

"Oh, yes _my wife_! Yes, yes thank you. She _is_ a doll isn't she?" said Winston, who then turned his head towards the object of his attention, who Maxwell and C.C. were totally oblivious to.

In truth, neither of the backers was nice at all. They were both a rich, snooty rude couple, who just happened to be the heads of a major corporation. Maxwell and C.C. weren't here to be friendly, but here to shake some money out of their heavy, well-loaded wallets.

C.C. downed some more Chardonnay from her glass quickly, hoping this snooze-worthy meeting would end as soon as possible. C.C. knew some outrageous blue-bloods, but these people just took the cake, icing and all the candles for being snobby and most entirely annoying.

Out of the blue, Winston finally decided it was safe to speak of his distraction.

"Wow, check out that gorgeous, sexy brunette vixen over at the corner booth. Man, is she a dream or what? Look at that action!"

Maxwell hadn't really noticed the table off to the corner until his oh-so kind backer had pointed it out. It wasn't until after he recognized who the diners were that he wished he hadn't of looked.

It was Miss Fine and her _date_.

And they were making out.

And by chance it had to be a_ public _place… where of course he happened to be dining as well.

If Fran and Julian weren't so enthralled in what they were doing, they would have seen the obvious stares.

Was this how Miss Fine was like on all her dates? Was she this easy? Maxwell felt himself pondering over such questions. He had never _really _seen her on a date before, so how she was on them really surprised him. He might need to spy on her more often to see how she actually was when she was with other men. Do men always look at her like this? Do they all want her? Do they hit on her every time she goes out? How far would she exactly go with one of those blokes? Maybe there were actually loads of guys who wanted her as their girl. Maybe she had plenty of options.

_Maybe she'd rather choose someone else over me… What am I thinking? We are just friends. I'm acting like I want her. What am I saying? I do want her! I want her badly… No, no it would never work out. I'm her boss and she's the nanny. That's all there is between us. That's all there is. Nothing more and nothing less. _

C.C. stared, her eyes bugging out and Max quickly turned away, hurt.

"Wow, I wish that honey was my date," blurted out the short, old balding man that was to be Maxwell's backer. "If she's like that when you take her to a restaurant, damn, I wonder what she's like if you took her home."

Maxwell practically choked on the fine wine he was consuming and C.C. started laughing uncontrollably.

Max was appalled at how the man could just openly cheat on his wife like that in front of company. Had he no decency? The way he was talking about Miss Fine was disrespectful and it was making him feel very uncomfortable at the moment.

"What?" questioned Winston, irritated and looking as if C.C. were laughing at _him_. "If you don't think she's attractive, than you are insane!"

"Oh—ha ha… it's just that well, if you took her home—she'd—ha ha… she'd do wonders with your _children_," responded an amused C.C.

Maxwell shot her a very unfriendly look.

"What are you talking about?" asked a confused Winston gruffly, straightening his striped tie.

Maxwell refused to contribute to this conversation, so he just sat quietly, fumed as hell and eating his Chicken Milanese pasta with Pomodoro sauce slowly. This was supposed to be an innocent little dinner! Feed them and take their money! The way this whole dinner was going, he almost wanted to shove his fork down his mouth and die slowly choking on it.

"Why… didn't you know? That woman over there is the nanny of Maxwell's children!"

Maxwell stared at his plate and moved the food rations around with his fork, the light scraping sound going unnoticed to the other members of his table.

"You gotta be kidding me. A woman _that _hot is a childcare worker?" said Winston, astonished behind belief, then a sudden sly smile came to his face and he turned to Max who was sitting next to him in a dining chair. He tapped him lightly on the shoulder with the back of his hand. "So Maxwell, buddy, I bet it's a lot of fun playing house with the help. When you're not in need of her 'services,' maybe you could send her my way sometime." He ended the whole display of his by elbowing Maxwell and winking.

Maxwell looked up from the table and moved his face away from Winston's close one, utterly horrified and disgusted. He stared him straight in the eyes. Who the hell did this man think he was? Surely even his wife, being the bitch she was, didn't deserve him. And _that's_ really saying something!

"I'm sorry Winston, but I afraid you have quite the wrong idea about Miss Fine," said Maxwell firmly and aggressively, as he was quite appalled. He scooted his chair out a little to give himself more breathing room.

If he wasn't in a bloody restaurant and he didn't need this backer so badly, he would've slugged the fool right then and there.

Winston moved back to his original position at the table.

"Miss _Fine_? WOW, even the name suits her! That lady _is_ fine! Oh, but that's alright, I've still got the weekly cleaning lady to keep me satisfied."

That was it! He _was_ the dirtiest womanizer Max had ever met.

"I still bet that fox in the corner table is an animal in bed, but of course if you don't want to tell me all about it Sheffield, I'll _understand_," spoke the nasty man once again, adjusting his glasses. "You'd probably rather keep her to yourself than share anyhow."

Maxwell could tell that his eyes were becoming ablaze, but there was nothing that he could do about it. He knew how much he desperately needed this money and running a successful play meant the world to him. One slip of the tongue to this sex-addicted man could change everything, even if it meant not sticking up for Miss Fine. But wasn't it her fault in the first place? After all, she was causing all the attention towards herself.

_Why did Miss Fine have to be here and be the center of this man's interest? And how dare Montgomery accuse me of messing around with my help? Who does he think I am? Better yet, who does he think HE is?_

Winston's wife quickly appeared out of nowhere, freshly powdered nose and all, and she was not a happy camper. They all knew something was up when she didn't immediately sit back down. Maxwell and C.C. became very nervous, because if Vivian had heard even a _slither_ of something from their conversation, their money for backing might be in danger and on its way down the drain. Before they could say "Broadway Flunk," their worst nightmare happened.

Vivian tucked the front strands of her short auburn bob behind her ears and then tapped her foot quite furiously. She looked as if she was waiting for an explanation, but at the same time didn't want to hear one.

"I can't believe you Winnie! You have the hots for that chick over there and you've been _fooling_ _around_ with THE MAID?! I liked Marie too, but now? Well, hell my whole outlook is changed. I stand over at the next table talking to my friend Cassie, who I didn't realize was here, and I overheard all the shit you were saying!"

This woman didn't even have natural red hair and she _still _had a fiery attitude.

"Uh—I didn't… honey, please—"

"Real Nice Winston! We're getting a divorce PRONTO!" yelled out Vivian stomping off towards the nearest exit, her heels echoing on the polished wood floor with a _pok pok pok_ sound.

"Uh, _SWEETHEART_!" shouted Winston desperately after his wife and then to Maxwell, "This really isn't a good time Sheffield. Sorry."

The wealthy elderly man with the receding hairline then took off with speed after his very offended wife.

All of this caused a lot of commotion in the restaurant and even Fran and her date Julian noticed some of what was going on. They had paused from talking and stopped to gaze over at a distressed C.C. and Maxwell. Fran was surprised to see them. Before she had a chance to put a piece of steamed broccoli into her mouth, C.C. had approached their table. She grabbed Fran's wrist, pulling her up from the table and causing her to drop her fork which gave a loud clank when it landed upon her plate.

"Excuse us," said C.C. to Julian, in a fake polite tone.

Fran turned around to Julian, shrugging her shoulders and then C.C. dragged her around the corner to a more out-of-the-way area of the restaurant. Mr. Sheffield also happened to be there waiting. He didn't look like any ray of sunshine either.

_What did I do? _thought Fran, overly frustrated by this new situation placed on her. Surely C.C. and Maxwell didn't pull her over to say "Hi." Especially, when they didn't look too peachy to begin with and that's just not a typical way to do a meet and greet.

"Ow, can you let go of my hand? You're hurting me," said Fran, shaking free of C.C.'s grip.

"Thanks to you, Nanny Fine, we just lost our potential backers! They were gonna give us half a mil!" shouted C.C. in Fran's face, as she stood with her hands on her hips, not even caring that she shouldn't be yelling in a fine dining establishment.

C.C.'s words confused Fran and she didn't understand why she was being blamed. Fran gave a baffled, puzzled face to the both of them and then she began to get mad.

"And this concerns me… because? Why the hell is it my fault? Tell me that! Not to mention, you had no right to interrupt my date!" complained Fran, who was extremely angry how C.C. had took her away from Julian and accused her of something she didn't even do. "Now, if you excuse me, I'm gonna go—"

C.C. pulled her back, not allowing her to leave.

"If you weren't dressed so trampy and sucking face with Joe Schmo over there, Winston Montgomery probably wouldn't have paid you any attention and his wife wouldn't have heard him talk about you!" shouted C.C., pointing far back towards the table where Julian was sitting.

"Whoa hold on, so your just gonna let her stand there and talk about me that way, huh Mr. Sheffield? You think it's my fault too don't you? _Don't you_?" questioned Fran, at Mr. Sheffield who she gave an offended stare.

He just pretended not to hear her to save his own skin and looked to be preoccupied with staring down at the burgundy-carpeted floor with a silver diamond-shaped pattern.

When he failed to respond, she figured out that his answer was the same as C.C.'s. That really just twisted the already stabbed knife deeper in her bleeding heart for him. How could she be in love with a man who thought she was a slut?

"_You too_ Mr. Sheffield? So I guess it's my fault that I'm attractive and he was checking me out?" asked Fran, still trying to get Mr. Sheffield to voice his opinion even though he was pretending to ignore her.

She was doing her absolute best to get her point across that this debate they were starting made no sense whatsoever and was completely stupid.

"Yes, you thought right!" butted in C.C.

"I wasn't asking you! Mr. Sheffield? I'd really _love_ to have some feedback from you. I wanna hear the input on _your_ part! Just, just how exactly are you standing on this matter?"

Her really addressing him this time had caught him off guard and he paused for a moment before answering.

He was afraid of saying the wrong thing and having her be mad at him. Most likely, she was going to be irritated with him for this anyways so he figured he might as well just get this over with. Maxwell finally got something out, even though he hesitated a lot and stumbled over the words.

"Well, Miss Fine… uh—well you have to admit… you were uh—moaning pretty loud over there and—um… making a spectacle of yourself."

Maxwell nervously scratched behind his ear and tried his best to not maintain eye contact.

Oh, Fran could just not even believe this! They were hounding her on a little public display of affection of hers that happened to cause them some misfortune because of some horny old man's dissatisfaction with his wife. This was ridiculous beyond explanation!

"I can't believe you Nanny Fine!" said C.C., the fury continually rising in her face.

C.C. shook her hand out in front of herself and then placed it to her aching forehead, hoping to give a bit of a demonstration of just how much Fran's little scene had effected her. C.C.'s life was Broadway and another play having a greater possibility of flopping did not make her happy. On the contrary though, she was glad that Nanny Fine _had_ actually messed up, because if Maxwell was mad at her, she would have a better chance with him now.

Once again, Mr. Sheffield just stood there and did nothing. Normally, he would have gladly stuck up for her, but now the overwhelming feeling of her and her date being together really dissatisfied him in the most horrible way.

"Oh, my gosh! It's not like I was by myself, so I dunno why the guy assumed I was available! What I feel like doing with my date out in public is my problem! If I wanna have my way with him _on top the table_, that's my deal. I was only having fun… excuse me for being so gorgeous that guys want to look my way. It's _his_ fault he did it in front of his wife! Nothing that I was doing was any capital crime!" hollered Fran, who then held her hands out in question.

"Ssshh! Can you both keep it down, we're making a scene!" whispered Maxwell, looking over his shoulders at the diners who had nothing better to do than listen in.

All of them were arguing so loudly that most of the restaurant was all up in their conversation. It appeared as if most of the diners were getting entertainment from the little soap opera folding apart in front of them. The staff of the place was going to stop them until they realized it was Maxwell Sheffield, the Broadway Producer, and they knew they couldn't just kick a prominent man like him out. It's not like it was getting too far out of hand anyway and the customers seemed to enjoy all the drama.

"You could have at least waited to jump all over that guy until you got outside Nanny Fine!" spat out C.C.

"FYI, he was all over me first and I wanted him to be! And ya know _what_? I could have been some other random woman sitting in that booth and you still would've lost a backer! Would you have yelled at her too?" said an enraged Fran.

It really sunk in now to Maxwell how much money he was losing and how jealous he was of Fran and this other man's public intimacy. He then really started to take it out on her.

"But you weren't some other chance woman! It was you! Just remember that because of your foolish actions, we lost a very valuable asset to our production company!" bellowed Maxwell, heatedly.

Fran felt as if she might cry, because her emotions were shaken up and she did not like being yelled at and chastised like she was some small, disobedient child. Particularly, by a man she genuinely cared for and a woman that just plain hated her guts. She couldn't stand this anymore, couldn't stand here letting them pull her apart like this. It wasn't right and Fran decided that after one last comment, she was leaving this joint altogether.

"Let me tell you, that there are enough men in this city who would _love_ to have me and if I was that kind of girl, there would not be one night that would go by where I would have to go to bed alone. But it seems that even though I'm not a hooker, people still accuse me of being one! Maybe I should just live up to my _reputation_ and be a happy, _sexually-content_ woman!" concluded Fran, walking off.

Maxwell and C.C. stood in shock, their jaws dropped in response to her statement. Before they knew it, Fran shoved past them, crying lightly. Julian followed her shortly after and he gave both of them mean looks. Pretty soon they disappeared from "Angelo's Italian Bistro." Maxwell and C.C. decided it was best they leave too, because the looks _they_ were getting from the diners at the sight they had created were not at all pleasant either. But who could really blame the concerned patrons?

* * *

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	5. Five

**5**.

The words that she had spoken earlier echoed in his ears a million times over and over again like a broken record. The biggest problem was that the blasted turntable was in his mind and he had no way of turning it off.

"_And be a happy, sexually-content woman." _

He could hear her voice so crystal clear that it was almost if she had just said it and was right next to him.

Maxwell lay on the couch, a reckless mess in his emerald silk pajamas with the shirt half unbuttoned, weakly clutching an empty liquor glass. Max had no idea that he had downed most of that bottle of scotch so quickly. Every time he poured more into his glass with ice, it seemed like he was having his first taste. The alcohol was not affecting anything very much except his vision, which had become drastically blurred. His sight wasn't too important right now anyways considering he was in the pitch darkness of the living room. It was nighttime at the Sheffield residence and everyone home (or everyone besides him) was asleep, so Maxwell decided it was best if he just kept the lights off. Therefore, the only light that shined into the room came from the small amount of moonlight flooding through the front door and the windows. Not to mention, a tiny stream of brightness glowed in his area, which was brought on from the small nightlight plugged into the corner outlet near him. Even with all that, it was still very dim.

The polished mahogany grandfather clock he had recently purchased chimed three times loudly in the quietness of the room. At least now, Max knew what time it was. It was 3 o'clock in the morning. He had stayed up for a good long while now. Earlier when everyone else went to bed, he had attempted sleeping, but thoughts kept intruding into his mind about Miss Fine and what she was doing. Worrying about her being with another man kept him awake and forced him to pace frantically about in his bedroom, which was beginning to wear tracks into the carpet. He had been in a great state of panic then. So logically, he decided on the best bet, which was that he might as well just wait up downstairs until she came home—that is _if _she came home. After all, he had insulted her and made her cry.

He always seemed to be the cause of her tears lately.

_Would she really go and sleep with another man so easy? _He wondered, as his head rested against a pillow on the sofa. _No, no she would never do that to me. But then, why would she have said that and still be out at this ungodly hour? _

He groggily lifted his hand with his glass and reached it out towards the direction of where the coffee table was. He had swished his hand around for some time in the blank air until he located it finally. The slight sound of the glass clanking with the smooth wood was earsplitting considering his half hung-over, half drunk-still state ( Maxwell had been drinking since earlier and then decided to drink again as he got more depressed and the hours grew on.) Knowing that he had found the table, he let go of the glass and then returned his hand to his head where a throbbing headache was once again forming.

_How could she do this to me? How could she betray me like this?_

Maxwell could barely think, but one thing consumed his mind and that was Miss Fine. That's all he could see… all he could picture… It was the only meaningful thing or rather person in the world that he needed at that exact moment. He wanted her so badly and the fact that she was probably rolling around with Julian in his designer sheets completely infuriated him. It was evident that he was full of money since he was able to treat her to such a fancy restaurant as "Angelo's," and therefore could probably afford nice sheets as well. But still, he couldn't believe she would even do this to him and that _had_ to be the reason why she was still out.

_My bed linens are definitely a much higher thread count and if she wanted a cheap thrill she could have at least went for the better quality. She probably thinks I would have denied her, but she's wrong. I would give anything to have her right now, with me and in my bed. _

Just thinking of her entangled within his own blankets and around his body was having a drastic effect on him. Almost as if the heavens had heard his wish, his prayer was answered by the opening of the front door. She was hesitant of coming inside from what he could see from peering over the couch. Fran never even noticed him looking, so she turned to gently close the door and then put away her jacket in the closet. Even if she had looked over towards the couch, she wouldn't have seen him, for the room was still very much cloaked in darkness.

Fran decided that after everything that had went on, she needed something to calm her nerves and figured that warm milk would do the trick. So she made her way to the kitchen.

Max slowly got up from the couch and followed her, making sure he was quiet and she wouldn't detect him. When he got near the kitchen, he peeked through the door to watch her. By then he figured she was either in there to get a little nosh or some warm milk. She was sitting at a kitchen chair pulling off her high heels. Fran looked so innocent doing this and Maxwell couldn't help but stare at the back of her. Her curls flowed off her shoulders and she appeared so beautiful just sitting there. When she had walked over to the refrigerator barefoot, Fran lifted up her feet a bit for the floor tiles were cold. She gently pulled open the right fridge door and held it open with her hand as she scanned the food items for exactly what she was looking for. Just as she was about to reach for the one-gallon, 2 milk jug, he snuck up on her.

Fran wasn't even aware anyone was there, until she felt a hand cover her mouth and her own being lifted from the handle of the refrigerator door, which was then abruptly shut. She didn't dare turn around and she didn't need to. She couldn't see even if she was turned towards the shadowy figure, because it was totally dark in the kitchen without the light from the fridge or from the nightlight that Niles never replaced the light bulb in. For a slight second she had seen his hand, a mere silhouette, pull hers off of the door and she knew it was Mr. Sheffield. That had been her first guess before the typical psycho murderer presumption. He was still holding her hand at the moment, not having let it go yet—he had laced his fingers through hers and caressed their joined hands on his cheek. That wasn't the only reason she knew though.

She could feel him. Hear him. Smell him.

Fran could feel the weight of his body pressing against the back of her, she could hear his low, staggered breathing and she could smell the Aramis cologne mixed in with his own masculine scent. There was something different about him tonight though—he reeked of alcohol.

He had been drinking.

And it was because of _her_.

Fran was nervous, yet excited at the same time because of their close proximity. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest and she wouldn't doubt it, if in a matter of minutes, it just happened to come flying out of her throat. It wasn't fair for him to do this to her. After all, she _was_ mad at him and he _was_ mad at her.

_Is he still angry at me?_ _I'm not so much at him anymore. I wish he would stop torturing me like this, because now I really want to kiss him, _she thought. _Just align my lips so perfectly against his…_

Fran had already practically forgiven the man already, because it was entirely impossible for her to hate him even with valid reasons. Basically, she was half afraid of what he might do if he was still pissed off, but she couldn't help finding herself delighted by the way he was acting.

Maxwell really had a heck of a time telling where she was in the black expanse of the room, but as he reached out he was able to feel and also "see" with his hands. His hand fell upon the base of her neck and he moved it over her shoulder and to her arm. Maxwell surprised her again by softly turning her a little and then hugging her to him with one hand. He also grabbed her hand that he was still holding and guided it to his mouth. She could feel his lips as he savagely nibbled on the soft skin of her palm.

"Ohhh…" she quietly whimpered out.

It was the first term spoken since they both had entered the kitchen.

The intense feeling stung a bit, but the overwhelming pleasure of him coming in contact with her hand this way blocked it out. He slowly ran his lips over her skin until he made it to her fingers. Maxwell then slowly scraped his teeth over each tip of every finger on her hand.

"Mmmm…"

This was just too much and it was only her fingers! Never in anyway had anyone ever done such things to her hands as this. He then topped it all off by applying numerous quick, light kisses across her digits. Fran took in a sharp breath.

Making sure he had covered her whole hand, he moved his tongue and lips in and among each curve and crevice between her fingers. The whole time she felt his rapid, sultry breath on her skin. A deep growl escaped her throat and came pouring out of her mouth, into his ears.

As if it couldn't get any better, he then continued the same assault on her other hand.

She gasped.

Fran, who was in total rapture, leaned her forehead against his chest which happened to be where his shirt was open. Her hot breath breathed onto his front and he felt himself shiver. Her slightly wet hair from the light rain outside touching his torso wasn't doing much better for him either.

Maxwell stopped suddenly and let go of her hand, having it fall limply at her side. He then embraced her readily and guided his hands down to her rear-end where he fondled her there for a quite a bit. When he was done, he loosed his tight grip that was holding her to him and he just kind of swayed close to her. Before she knew what hit her, Max swiftly turned her to face him more, and pushed her up against the fridge hard.

"Ugh… ow!" said Fran in reaction, even though she wasn't complaining—at all.

As she was crammed against Mr. Sheffield and the front of the refrigerator, she finally knew how the cream between two Oreo cookies felt. And boy, oh boy was it great!

It was a good thing Maxwell was fairly tolerant towards liquor, because even when he was drunk, you could just barely tell that he actually was. Unless of course, you knew him real personally like Fran did.

Everything seem to happen so fast, it was almost a blur to Fran. Deep down inside her, she knew this wasn't right. Mr. Sheffield didn't want her like this! But who was she to stop him when this was what she dreamed of? Anyways, he was the one with his hands on the steering wheel and his foot on the gas pedal of this action. It wasn't her! She wasn't the one begging or pleading for him to do this, so there was no way Fran could get blamed. Still, she desperately wanted to know why he was behaving like this all of a sudden, but she was also afraid that if she voiced something about what was happening, it would shatter this fantasy that seemed so very unreal as it was.

He haphazardly traced the contours of her face, ending on her lower jaw. Next, he decided to purposely breathe down the sweetheart neckline of her dress to let her feel what she had done to him earlier. Even though the air he possessed was warm and full of a scotch-smell that filled her nostrils, it sent a chill down her spine and popped out Goosebumps all over her skin. She grasped her hands tightly onto the lapels of his emerald silk pajamas. The likeness of the fabric of their clothes made holding onto each other very slippery—in particular, when they were directly touching.

For a moment, a thread of moonlight filtered into the room and they were both illuminated. All they could see were each other's eyes and the desire was displayed so crystal clear in them. The eyes _are _windows to the soul after all…

Max felt her thick hair brush his hand as her touched her face, lightly stroking her cheek. Tempted, he buried his hands in her thick tresses. Her hair was damp from the light April spring rainfall outside and he used his lips to move over her mane of hair, reveling in the cool moisture. Fran's curls also had a faint scent from the fruity citrus shampoo she had washed her hair with earlier that smelled absolutely delicious.

"Oh… please touch my hair more!" pleaded Fran in a soft voice, tilting her head back even though it was hitting the refrigerator surface.

Maxwell twirled his fingers around her thick locks and realized that he wanted precisely the same thing she did.

"Touch-_mine _as well Miss Fine_… you absolutely must!_" ordered Max smearing his words together, for he was still pretty smashed. He then took her hands and moved them to his scalp.

He had finally spoken and this reassured Fran that she wasn't dreaming.

"Pa-leeeeeze… I know to want you."

He realized that didn't sound right, or anything quite like the words he had formed in his brain.

"—I know _you want to_! Well… actually both."

It was a simple request and Fran followed. They both ended up moaning audibly from the experience. Fran clasped her fingers tightly around his dark curls and lured his head down towards her neck so he could apply some kisses there. He placed a few at the base of her neck and then gradually attempted to reach to her mouth.

Guilt getting the better of her, Fran decided it was about time to halt his advances, "Mr. Sheffield, I really don't think this is such a good idea…"

"Nonsense," he whispered and then smirked, touching his pointer finger vertically over her lips to tell her to "hush."

The room was spinning to Max, but Fran seemed so clear and sharp to his vision. Maxwell was so intensely aroused at the moment too that all he wanted was to feel her closer to him. He wanted to smash her body into his. So he shakily guided his hand underneath her dress, lifted one of her legs up to his side and held it there, which then gained him the desired closeness. They were still very much pressed against the fridge.

Fran was glad that he was half-carrying her, for she felt as if her legs were going to go out any minute. Relaxed and delighted in this new position with him, she wrapped one arm around his neck, while the other was holding onto the front pocket of this shirt. She rested her head down on his shoulder and he loved the feel of her now-dry, soft curls on his neck. When Max suddenly glided his tongue on the bit of skin on her exposed shoulder, she pulled back in astonishment. This of course, was exactly what he wanted.

Now that she was facing him again with her face, he gave her a casual peck on the cheek before he retracted his lips and concentrated on her mouth. He began by hovering his soft lips excruciatingly close to hers without connecting them at all. He did this for a few minutes, but to Fran it seemed like an eternity. Eventually he did reach them though, and he enclosed his lips over hers and moistened them until they glistened radiantly. He continually pulled at her lower lip too, relishing in the splendor of the mere gesture, but at the same time, he grew greedy and desperately desired to obtain entrance to her soft, sweet mouth. So therefore, acting on urge, he pushed against her teeth forcefully with his tongue a few times, because her teeth were practically closed together mind you, refusing him to come inside. Finally, she just gave into him even though she knew it wasn't right to allow him to go on touching her like this when he wasn't in the right state of mind. She just couldn't help it though. There was pretty much nothing she could deny this man. Looking at her magnificently parted lips, he decided to follow through with his plan of unleashing his frustration. Max wasn't able to stand doing things slow, so he eagerly invited himself in and hastened the pace of their so-called unified contact.

He only paused momentarily to convey a current thought:

"You ruined a very crucial business deal of mine, but as you can see… I'm something else besides mad with you at the moment…"

Maxwell slithered his tongue all around her mouth hard and pulled at her lips, forgetting to be gentle in the least. For most of this time, Fran had just sat back with her eyes closed and her mouth feebly trying to keep up with his movements. Fran soon _had_ to really join in though, because she couldn't help herself, and she got him back for earlier by nipping at his glorious, delicious British lips. Max was partly trying to destroy her mouth and at the same time partly trying to swallow her affection deeply in this one contact. Her lips were sore and glistening. Never before had Fran ever had such an adoringly violent kiss and to her surprise, it was actually very exhilarating. Something had to have triggered him to do this, but what? All of a sudden, he then rapidly stopped and put her fully down. As soon as he had removed his lips from hers to say something, Fran began to struggle for breath. She touched a few fingers to her swollen lips and they burned with warmth.

"You slept with him didn't you?" hissed Maxwell harshly, slurring his words and unexpectedly deciding to grind his very apparent arousal against her mid-section.

She was pushed farther and harder against the fridge with a rough, rocking motion. Her eyes shut closed for an instant in painful pleasure and her mouth was thrown wide-open once again. Her reaction to their newfound closeness directly mirrored his own.

The question came out of nowhere and Fran was less than prepared. It wasn't that she didn't know how she should answer, it was that she was so wrapped up in what they were doing right now that she had barely paid attention to what he had said.

Her breathing became spurted and she cried out an answer. "What with who?"

"Slept with Julian," he spat out, as he once again pushed his sex closer to hers, even though they were still separated by clothing.

She shut her eyes in ecstasy once more and clenched her teeth together in reaction to feeling him and having him want her. If only he knew how much this was tormenting her, or maybe he did and that's exactly why he was doing it.

"No," she screeched out.

"I don't believe you," he choked out, followed by drunken laughing.

Max began to rapidly stroke her inner thigh beneath her short dress and then grabbed the side of her head. He pulled her towards his face so that it would be up against the side of his.

"Oh?"

Fran whimpered in his ear as he rubbed his cheek against hers.

"TELL ME I'M BETTER!" he demanded.

"Whaaat?"

"Tell me that I'm better than Julian—that this is _better_. Is it? IS IT?"

Despite his drunken stupor, he had not managed to hide the true hurt and fury within his voice.

"Yessss, yessss of—of course," she replied, reassuringly grasping and holding onto his warm, strong body tightly with her head resting on his chest.

He moved her back from him and leaned down to her neck, placing his lips on the side perfectly. Fran reached her arm over to the back of his head and pushed it closer, obviously loving the feeling by the sound of her sigh. He then proceeded to kiss her so amorously that he gave her a love bite and a reddish glow appeared where he had removed his mouth. Fran caressed her hand across the area.

Standing for so long and being so close with her so fast had begun to make him weak. Not to mention, all the booze had made his coordination and general balance all screwed up. His knees shortly gave out and he started slipping down the refrigerator. As he started to fall down, he dragged Fran with him to the ground. He had stumbled and staggered a bit, so he didn't hit the surface that harsh. His cheek slid down the cool, smooth tile as he landed against the kitchen floor. Maxwell winced in pain for his back and face had felt most of the blow. However, he wasn't injured too badly. Another feeling consumed him at the moment anyhow and it wasn't pain.

Fran let out a small, soft cry as she fell atop him, facing him with her arms bracketing him to the floor. She knew she had to have injured Maxwell a little bit from her weight falling on him. Fran stayed close, but moved off of him.

"Are you okay?" she asked in a soothing voice, concerned.

He failed to answer and his demeanor changed abruptly. Maxwell had this intense, possessed-like look on his face that freaked Fran out.

"Mr. Sheffield?" she whispered in fright, receding back.

He gave a devilish grin and started moving closer to her like a predator about to attach its prey. Fran didn't know why she was scared, but seeing Mr. Sheffield acting like this was just so very creepy and peculiar.

As she moved back away from him using her arms, he began to crawl towards her. Fran had made it all the way to the middle of the room, behind the kitchen island before he pounced on her. And by pounce, he did precisely that.

"I _burn_ for you," he breathed out as his eyes melted into hers and he leaned over her.

Fran squealed out lightly, but was soon calmed down by his lips silencing her and tasting her yet again. She was so tired and out of it, that she didn't even try to fight it. Plus, the way he was smooching her was just too dreamlike and surreal. So heavenly amazing…

Maxwell was adoring the heavy making out and groping they were doing and knew that this had to be better than anything she experienced with Julian in the restaurant or at his house. Fully sitting up now, while Fran was leaning back, Maxwell tilted her towards him and aggressively stroked her back. Her soft skin and the thin fabric of her dress only made his temptation rise even higher. Wanting to feel more of her, he ran his hand over her back until he located her zipper. He smoothed his hand over the silk of her dress before pulling down the zipper slowly to her waist and carefully lifting her arms out of it. He then laid her fully against the tile and she trembled from the feeling of the cold floor against her bare back. He was truly amazed at what he saw. Even though the room was unlit and his vision was blurry, he just knew she was beautiful. All he could see and touch was her white soft skin. It was so creamy and goddess-like. Max placed feathery kisses from her neck down to her navel, as well as placing his lips upon her dark, shining hair.

He couldn't hold out any longer and he reached behind her again to unclasp her lacy lavender bra she had on. Especially, now that her fullness was exposed, he wasn't sure he could control himself even if he wasn't all that controlled to begin with. He ran his hands over her breasts, feeling her quiver and hearing her sigh. She was so velvety soft and he felt like a stoned, hippie teenager who was listening to psychedelic music while lying on a wavy waterbed. The overwhelming feel of her and him this close was most entirely intoxicating.

"Miss Fine… oh, Miss Fine… _you_ are the object of my desire…" growled out Maxwell, resting his head just above the cleavage of her breasts with his arms wrapped around her and his hair spilled across her neck.

His body breathing decreased immensely, and him taking in air was the only sound that filled her ears.

Fran unconsciously nodded her head in reply—her eyes had been shut for a while now. Max was lying almost completely on top of her and even though he still had his shirt on, he was undergoing some very powerful effects in his body.

She was so very exhausted, but everything he did just kept on waking her up more. Even when she was unbearably tired like now, Fran couldn't resist the unrestrained intimacy she craved and that he was so willing to give at the moment.

They lay there comfortably quite some time before Maxwell realized that he really wanted and needed to feel her chest up against his. He sat up, rapidly unfastening his buttons and was just about to pull Fran towards him when they were both startled by a padding sound. Someone was walking down the back stairs towards the kitchen!

This made Fran open her eyes and put her hand over Max's mouth, hoping he wasn't too intoxicated to know to keep quiet. He then took her hand and laid it delicately down, understanding. They both became silent and didn't make a sound, so that whoever it was wouldn't notice them. Fran awkwardly crossed her arms over her naked front. When that person finally made it towards the refrigerator, they both recognized who it was—it was Maggie!

This was terrible. This was no kind of situation a child should ever find their father in—or their nanny for that matter! Fran felt so sick and dirty. What would happen if Maggie happened to look over their way?

Maggie stood at the large fridge in her blue star and moon tank top with pajama bottoms, contemplating what she was gonna get. With the girl's growing hesitation, Fran was starting to freak out and was wishing she would just get out of the kitchen as soon as possible. It seemed to them as if time had stopped. Finally, the young teenage girl grabbed a jug of orange juice and plopped it down on the counter. After pulling open a cabinet and grabbing a tumbler glass, she poured some juice in the cup. Maggie didn't even look or walk over to them as she went and sat over on one of the chairs of the kitchen table. When she stretched her legs out, she accidentally kicked one of Fran's shoes. Looking down to see what the noise was, she realized she had kicked a high heel.

"Fran…" she said aloud yet quietly, recognizing who the shoes belonged to.

Fran stopped breathing at the sound of her name. Her eyes popped wide-open in alarm that the girl might somehow have noticed her and her father and Fran expected to have another set of eyes meet up with hers as she browsed the room. Her worries were soon forgotten though, for after taking a few more sips of orange juice, Maggie went back up the stairs with the juice to bed.

Fran breathed a deep sigh of relief and looked over at Mr. Sheffield. He had his eyes closed, his hair was tousled all around and his arms were wrapped around her arm. He appeared unbearably desirable. She let her arm loose from his grasp.

"Mr. Sheffield, coast is clear…" She shook him a little, but when he failed to respond, she addressed him again. "Mr. Sheffield?"

"Oh great, he's asleep!" grumbled out Fran to herself.

_It figures that he decides to snooze after he has his way with me on the kitchen floor! Just my luck! Oh so typical… _

She shivered, almost forgetting she was half-naked. After getting herself together and putting her bra and dress back on all the way, she got up. She was very wobbly and felt that she was like a teapot that would tip over any minute.

Fran walked till she got behind Maxwell and she bent down to lift his arms up. As she wrapped her arms around the back of his, she attempted to get him up. Her face strained together as she tried to pull him to his feet.

_No good._

She let out a frustrated breath.

He was out cold and there was no way she was going be able to wake him. The only way to get him into bed was to carry/drag him up the stairs and all the way to his room. Talk about mission impossible. Miss Fine had a great figure, but she wasn't very capable on the physical-lifting side. He was just S.O.L. if he expected her to get him to his bedroom all by herself! What was she gonna do, call Niles to help?

_Oh yeah, nice. That'll spark some odd questions. Like, 'Miss Fine, just exactly how did Mr. Sheffield end up down here?' And 'What were you and Mr. Sheffield doing?' Forget that!_

Fran shook her head and walked over to the kitchen table to grab up her shoes. After taking one last loving look at Mr. Sheffield, she went up the stairs.

Just a touch, it was _only_ but a touch they had shared. Something so little and rare as what had happened would never be enough to keep Fran content. Nevertheless, it would satisfy her for the time being, or at least it would have to. Loving a man like him was the worst kind of torture—it was uncertain and often disappointing.

She never did get her warm milk, but with what she experienced tonight, even a soothing dairy product couldn't lull her to sleep.


	6. Six

**6**.

Maxwell awoke with a smile later on with the early morning sun lighting up the room. He had had the most marvelous dream… it wasn't very clear, but he knew that him and Miss Fine had finally gotten so very close. The way that he had explored her in his fantasy would have been previously forbidden. And his dream felt so real, so sensual that if this would be the case every time, he never wanted to wake up again.

With this secret desire acted out during in his sleep… hidden so deep within the depths of his mind, or so he thought, he could get away with dreaming of her this way. A sharp pain in his back brought him to reality though. It was hurting mighty painfully and he realized that it was because he had slept on a hard floor. He propped himself up a bit, placing his hands on the cool tile near him.

_How the bloody hell did I end up in the kitchen?_

Max glanced over to the microwave and the glaring green lights of 7:14 shined back at him. He was okay for the time, because everyone slept in late on Sunday. Moving a bit and touching the floor underneath him, he discovered that it was warm. He had to have been napping here for quite some time…

_How did I get on this blasted floor? I can't even recall… _he asked himself.

Maxwell looked down at the floor next to him. Sparkling brightly was Miss Fine's silver, chained necklace that had a rather large pendant hanging off of it that was shaped like a closed heart and lined with small crystals. It was lying on top of a clean tile square.

_What the devil is this doing by me? Was Miss Fine down here? _

For a moment, he considered the possibility of his fantasy actually having existed, but he quickly shook the thought away.

_I wish… but by God, that'd make things complicated!_

Feeling the complete coldness of the floor now, he wrapped his arm across his chest and realized that his shirt was open and all the buttons were unfastened.

_Why is my shirt unbuttoned? I usually never wear my shirt completely open. _

He scratched his head in confusion and got up. Not entirely understanding anything and being dead tired and hung-over, he decided not to question it anymore. He couldn't _truly_ remember anything that had happened after he had drank that bottle of scotch. Not to mention, at this time he was worn-out and all he could think of was going to sleep in his comfy bed, instead of some hard floor. So, Maxwell pocketed Miss Fine's necklace in his pajama pants and slowly trudged upstairs to get some much needed rest while he still could. Much in hope of course, to have another intense dream of Miss Fine flash in front of his tired eyes.


	7. Seven

**7**.

Fran desperately tried to stay awake at the breakfast table. Every so often, her face would droop down as she supported her head up by her arm. This time her head fell down next to her plate and her arm ended up in a big gob of her pancakes—syrup and all. She had already undone her robe earlier and hung it onto the back of her chair, having found out that the dining room was a little hot and stuffy. She sat at the table wearing just a little blue pajama ensemble that was fairly nanny-appropriate, but then again Fran was never really a conservative clothes type of woman.

"Fran!" called out Brighton from across the table, trying to get her attention.

"Whaaaat?" she whined, lifting her head up a little to look at the boy through blurry eyesight.

"You got a little something on your arm…"

She looked at her arm and wiped it off with a napkin, groaning afterwards because her arm still felt sticky. All of the children giggled.

"I see you didn't get much sleep… Miss Fine, are you alright?" asked Niles, concerned.

Before Fran could answer, Maggie did.

"It's okay Niles; she was just out late with Julian! Right Fran?" said Maggie, smiling and winking.

Fran fully sat herself up and blinked a few times to sharpen her vision. "Yeah, Niles, I'm fine."

Fran reached behind her to put her robe back on, because she had suddenly felt a draft come through the room and the coldness was giving her Goosebumps.

Maggie moved around the bacon on her plate and then looked up at Fran. "So… how was it? You had to have been with him most of the night."

"Yeah and it was pretty nice…" responded Fran, still drowsy.

She yawned.

Niles smirked aside to himself. He had practically walked in on Miss Fine and Mr. Sheffield making out against the refrigerator, but he quickly exited without them knowing.

_With Julian most of the night, my potholders! _thought Niles.

Maggie's talking of Fran's time with Julian made her scan over the events of yesterday. Fran eyes popped wide open in remembrance of what had happened with Mr. Sheffield. She just now recalled exactly what had occurred between them last night. In reaction, Fran quickly moved her attention to the high-back chair at the end of the table.

_Empty. Thank God! _

"Are you okay Fran?" questioned Gracie, eyeing her oddly.

"Oh yeah, sure I'm… great! Um Niles, where's Mr. Sheffield?"

"In La La Land. Seems he didn't get much sleep either," answered Niles, plopping a buttermilk biscuit on her plate and then winking.

Did Niles know? Was he suggesting something?

"Yeah, he was all mad because I messed up him and Miss Babcock's business deal yesterday. I probably upset him a great deal… they lost half a mil ya know," said Fran, trying to explain why he was still crashing while she crunched on the end of a slice of bacon.

_Seems like he took out his frustration well… _reflected Niles.

"I'm guessing C.C. was blowing the most fire?" questioned Niles, thinking about C.C. reacting viciously to all of this.

"She was a regular old Puff the Magic Dragon! 'Cept she'd be the evil twin if there was one!" laughed Fran, ironically.

"Sounds like our Ca Ca," said Niles.

Everyone giggled.

"So Fran, you still up for Bloomingdale's?" asked Maggie, eagerly.

"Hmm-huh?" responded Fran, out of it and looking up at Maggie with bleary eyes.

"Remember, you were gonna take me to get a dress for the Spring Fling at school!"

"Dance… dance! Yes, _yeah_ of course! The dress… sure sweetie."

Fran flicked her index finger at Maggie a couple times and nodded, finally understanding what she was talking about. Mr. Sheffield had given her the money for Maggie's gown-shopping the other day and it was just lying on her bureau underneath a can of hairspray, waiting to be spent.

"Will do! Just… just give me about an hour or two to get ready and change out of this," said Fran, indicating her robe. "Then we'll head off to Bloomie's."

"Sure, sure. You take your time Fran, no rush!"

"Thanks," replied Fran, giving a half-hearted smile and exciting the room.

"She didn't eat her pancakes! Shotgun!" yelled Gracie, reaching next to her to grab up Fran's plate and then placing it beside to her own.

Maggie chuckled and Brighton burst out laughing.

"What?" asked Gracie, puzzled at why she was being laughed at.

"Grace, you call that for when you want to ride in the front passenger seat of a car!" explained Maggie, talking slowly so that her sister would comprehend.

"Oh," said Gracie, blushing. "Sorry, I'm trying really hard, but I'm just not up to date with all this teenage slang!"

"You can say that again!" mocked Brighton.

Maggie laughed.

"Hey!" shouted Gracie, throwing a biscuit at her brother and hitting him right on the nose.

Brighton lifted the biscuit from his lap where it had landed. He then clenched his teeth at her and wiped the tiny biscuit crumbs off of his face.

"Good aim Miss Grace," complimented Niles.

"Why thank you Niles!" Gracie turned and smiled at him for his appreciation.

Maggie stirred a piece of pancake around in her favorite Log Cabin brand maple syrup for some time and then finally plopped it into her mouth with her fork. She seemed troubled.

"Do you think Fran's okay? I mean, she barely touched her breakfast. That's like a serious offense for anyone of Fine descent!"

Niles grinned at Margaret's concern and knowledge of her Nanny and then answered her with a hint of sparkle in his eye, "Oh I wouldn't worry too much about her Miss Margaret, I happen to know that last night Miss Fine had a _very_ fulfilling snack!"

* * *

**A/N:** In case you were wondering, there are many more chapters to come and the good thing is, I have already completed most of them so I'll try to get them up as soon as possible. The ending, however, is not yet finished but I am working on it. Thanks for reading! 


	8. Eight

**8.**

"Niles, could you get me something for my back? I feel like I've been run over by a double-decker bus!"

Maxwell sat in his office, moaning and complaining about his present back problems that needed some consideration.

"_That_ bad sir?"

Max gave a gruff snort in response.

The butler left the room and then returned promptly to present his boss with an Icy/Hot pack to ease his pain. Max had not informed Niles of the fact that he had woken up on the floor, so Niles just figured it was strained muscles or something—after all, Maxwell did in fact have a lot of tension and stress from work.

"Thanks old man," said Maxwell weakly and appreciatively.

"No problem sir," replied Niles.

Maxwell accepted the Icy/Hot pack and placed it behind him on the chair. He then continued sipping a little of Nile's horrible Hangover tonic and in response to it's not so tasteful flavor, gave a thoroughly disgusted look. An attractive pewter grey vest and trouser combo clothed him. Under the vest, a striped button-down shirt peaked out, which was fancily accessorized with bands on the sleeves.

It was around 3:00 p.m. when C.C. breezed into the office.

"Maxwell, I have fabulous news!" called out C.C.

Niles on cue, swiftly stopped pledge-ing the bookcase and turned toward the wicked blonde woman.

"You found another job and you're putting in your two weeks notice?!" said Niles, pretending to get overjoyed and excited. "I could just _dance_ and swing off a few lamp posts!"

Niles just had to crack one at her. He punched the air and then roughly pulled his fisted arm back towards him in a "YES!" motion.

"No," replied C.C. sourly, glaring at him.

She then turned to Maxwell excitedly, far too busy to deal with the butler's banter. "Mr. Montgomery's willing to back us! He made it all up to his wife by buying her a Mercedes, so now we have _nothing_ to worry about!"

Max wiped the remains of the gross drink he was consuming from his lips with the back of his hand and sat the almost empty glass onto the end of his desk, apparently glad to be rid of it.

"That's excellent! However, I do think you and I owe Miss Fine an apology for yesterday," responded Maxwell, getting up, walking to the front of his desk, and then leaning against it.

"Me? Apologize to Nanny Fine?" asked C.C., gesturing towards herself by placing her hand on the middle of her chest atop a cream-colored blouse. "What sick, alternative universe are you living in Maxwell? I meant everything I said yesterday. She's a tramp! You can't apologize for the obvious!"

"Yeah, just like you can't apologize to anyone for being _unsightly_ revolting!" teased Niles.

Maxwell even had to chuckle at this one.

_Here we go again..._ thought Maxwell to himself. _It just wouldn't be a usual day without C.C. and Niles bickering._

"Well I may look like vomit, but at least _I_ don't have to clean it up," played back C.C., referring to last week when Maggie was sick.

Niles made an "Oh no you didn't" face.

"I'm surprised you even _do_ anything considering the last time you had someone come over; it was just the _plumber_ making a service call."

"Plumber? That man was my date, thank you very much!" exclaimed C.C.

Niles was told to deliver C.C. a vital document from Maxwell that day and had seen her, and this man, personally outside her apartment.

"Well it just so _happens _I was right there and he was _so_ not your date. C'mon, the plunger he was holding was a dead giveaway," corrected Niles.

"Just—just can it Bellhop!"

"On any other occasion I would gladly, but it seems the trash is needed inside the office."

C.C. shot Niles a death glare and in retort, he stuck out his tongue at her and continued shining up the wood bookcase with furniture polish. He wanted to shut up for the time being so that he could hear about what exactly happened at the restaurant yesterday, because Miss Fine just had to be oh so vague about it. Even if it meant being civil with Babcock, which was _very_ hard for him to do.

"No seriously C.C., we really upset Miss Fine yesterday and it wasn't even her that we should have blamed."

"What are you talking about? It was _her_ sex appeal that drove Winston Montgomery wild!" yelled C.C.

"Ooo, this sounds good…" whispered Niles to himself, now giving his full attention to Sheffield, Miss Babcock, and the little quarrel between them.

He knocked several books off the shelf and let them fall to the floor as an excuse to keep tidying up if Mr. Sheffield was to ask him to leave the room.

C.C. and Max both turned around toward the noise in surprise. Maxwell briefly paused to give Niles a nasty expression and then the arguing continued.

"C.C., let's not get into this again… please be reasonable. Now look, I refuse to work with you today unless you give Miss Fine an admirable apology!"

"No way Maxwell!"

"C.C…" said Max, sternly.

C.C. finally caved after seeing her boss' not-so-pleased-with-her face.

"Fine," grunted C.C., starting to exit in search of her not-so-favorite floozy.

Niles walked out and stopped C.C. by sticking his arm out in front of her.

"She's not here."

C.C. rolled her eyes as she walked back in following Niles, and Max instantly stood up straight.

"Well, then where did she go?"

_Ooo somebody is a bit curious and protective of his nanny…_ contemplated Niles.

Why did Maxwell suddenly have this abrupt concern with Miss Fine's whereabouts?

"She went shopping with Miss Margaret sir."

"_Oooh_, guess I'll just have to apologize to Nanny Fine later," replied C.C., acting like she was terribly disappointed and then topped the whole little display of hers off by snapping her fingers on one of her hands.

"That's the second time in a row she's kept me in the dark about her plans! Niles! When Miss Fine comes in, _please _inform her that I wish to see her in my office!"

_Not the only time she's kept you in the dark…_

"Niles, did you hear me?"

Max's loud voice pulled Niles away from his musing.

"Of course sir. I'll make sure she knows right away—as soon as she gets in!"

"Good, see that you do."

"Maxwell, I'll be off to the theatre now to check on the cast. I'm sure they're angry as hell about having to come in on a Sunday to rehearse and I'd like to make sure they haven't destroyed the entire set yet," relayed C.C., grabbing up her things.

"Yes, yes... very well, I shall join you there later," responded Maxwell, reviewing some papers he just removed from a manila folder.

As soon as C.C. walked out of the office, Niles followed her out into the hallway.

C.C. could sense someone behind her.

"What is it broom boy?" asked C.C., turning around to face the butler. "Lost your duster? So sorry—can't help you."

"Be nice Babcock, or I won't _dish_."

"You think _I_ care if you don't wash the plates from lunch? You'll be jeopardizing your own job, not mine."

Niles rolled his eyes, but had to breathily laugh at that one. Sometimes Babcock was just unbelievable.

"I mean dish as in _tell_! I have a juicy secret up my sleeve," clarified Niles.

"Okay, then what?" questioned C.C., curious.

Then Niles said in a sing-song voice and a dance that was more of him just jutting side to side, "I know something you don't know and you're not gonna like it!"

"_What_?"

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"It's about Mr. Sheffield and Miss Fine," he whispered.

"Yeah, so what about 'em?" said C.C., pretending to be careless.

"Let's just say… last night they had a _close encounter_."

C.C.'s eyes widened the size of saucers, but she quickly returned to normal.

"I really don't give a hoot Miss Amelia Bedelia!" snapped C.C. at Niles, mocking the popular children's book.

She was obviously quite troubled by this, but did a fairly good job at disguising it.

"Well, if you're gonna be like that, then never mind!" declared Niles.

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

"Okay!"

"I'll tell you later…" said Niles, unexpectedly.

"All right!" agreed C.C., turning around and brashly nodding her head to him, and then turning back again and finally leaving.


	9. Nine

**9.**

Twelve hours, better yet—half a damn day, had gone by and it still consumed her thoughts. She had a pretty good hunch that it would for quite a while too.

Why did he have to do that? Why did he have to touch her that way?

Every time they got a little closer it just made her want him more and more. He was feeding the ever-burning fire she possessed for him and it was such a dangerous flame to begin with. The more strength it obtained… the longer it lasted. It would eventually never burn out and be everlasting. Fran would then be a victim of unrequited love—something she promised herself she never would be.

"Fran, does this look okay?"

Maggie had just stepped outside the dressing room of Bloomingdale's and did a little spin in front of Fran so that she could have a full perspective of the dress she had tried on.

Fran's eyes stared straight through Maggie as various thoughts raced through her head. One of them however, she focused on at the moment. Mr. Sheffield had his hands all over her and they were up against the refrigerator in the kitchen, kissing. Last night's contact with him was replaying in her head.

"_Miss Fine… oh, Miss Fine… you are the object of my desire…"_

Those were the last words she _ever_ would have expected to hear from Mr. Sheffield. Even though it was true he wasn't in the right state of mind, simply knowing that the words actually flowed from his mouth was just the most marvelous thing. Somewhere deep in his subconscious he was actually thinking that… or at least she hoped. It would be terrible to find out that he was just talking nonsense. And how would she ever forget the feel of his eager arousal so close? He had to be just as turned on as she was, perhaps even more. Hopefully, he somehow knew it was her though and wasn't just so entirely blitzed that he just sensed a female body near. But then again he did ask about Julian…

_Ugh, it's all just so complicated!_

Fran slightly frowned.

But what would Mr. Sheffield say about it when she got home? She hadn't seen him at all this morning before she went shopping and he would have to be confronted about it sometime or another. After all, he started the whole mess, intoxicated or not, and he couldn't just straight-out avoid the subject completely. Neither could she for that matter…

The best part though, she confirmed, was that is wasn't a dream. No matter what happened, she'd always have that glorious memory that no one could shake from her.

"_Fran_?!"

Maggie waved a hand in front of Fran to bring her and her dreamy face back to earth.

Fran shook her head and blinked her eyes in reaction.

Maggie smirked widely. "I know Julian's all that and a bag of chips, but if you could just give me your attention for a _second_!"

_If only she knew… and it's not even Julian—it's her father!_

"Oh, I'm so sorry Maggie, what were you saying? I wasn't here for a moment."

"Well, obviously!" remarked Maggie, somewhat annoyed. "So what do you think?"

"I'm not so sure about this one… let me see the pink one again."

And so, Maggie retreated back into the dressing room to put on the other dress.


	10. Ten

**10.**

"Darn, I was so close to getting to the castle!"

Brighton groaned aloud and slammed his video game controller to the ground.

His Dad finally bought him a new system after finding out that Niles "accidentally" smashed it with a meat mallet. Scratch that, Niles actually bought it, because the money was taken out of his paycheck. So Brighton was sitting there, playing his All Stars: Super Mario Bros. 3 game on his Super Nintendo that he hooked up earlier to the living room TV. He had almost gotten to the castle in World 2, but he had fallen off the edge in one of the lands before it. Now he was out of lives and had to start all over, which made him furious. Not to mention, he was getting pretty bored playing by himself and he wished that all his friends weren't so busy, so that he could at least have something to do. He tried to think of who could play videogames with him.

_Dad? Busy and no hand-eye coordination whatsoever. Niles? Butler's Association Meeting. C.C.? Oh, let's not even go there. Maggie? No…_

Maggie would never take the time of day to play a video game with her little brother when she could be hanging with her friends or with some boy and Gracie well, she was another story.

_Gracie? What was it that Gracie said this was? Oh yeah, a non-educational, brain-washing system that promotes lethargy and object dependence. What in the blue blazes does lethargy mean? I didn't even learn that in school! Stupid smarty pants sister! _

He thought for another minute and realized he had forgotten another person who happened to become a very valuable addition to his family and to him. Fran! And just as he thought of her, there she was, walking his way. Did she know him or did she know him?

"Hey B., how's the game goin'?"

"It sucks. I almost got to the castle, but I lost all my lives and have to start all the way over! It's all because of that _stupid Italian plumber_!" explained Brighton in utter distress.

"Who? Danny Imperiali 's uncle?" joked Fran.

"Fran, I'm serious!"

Fran laughed, taking a seat next to him on the couch and grabbing his controller. After flipping through the item screen, she soon realized the problem.

"Wait, hold up! Boy, you don't even have any items! You at least need to have the whistle. If you fly up in the end of that fortress in World 1 you can get it. It can skip like half of these worlds. Let's start this game over and I'll show you how it's done. I know all the cheats."

"Whistle?" asked Brighton as if it was some foreign word that he knew nothing about.

"You have much to learn young grasshopper," responded Fran, patting him on the knee.

"Ok, then teach me so I'm victorious when I play against my friends! Oh, and I'm Mario," called out Brighton, taking the first controller that Fran had and giving her the second player one.

"That's fine, I like Luigi better. He's not short and fat and red. Not to mention, he jumps better. His feet go all crazy… or at least they do in one of those Mario games—anyway, let's go!"

Before they started playing, Brighton thanked Fran for playing with him.

"Hey, I can relate to your situation having no one to play with you. I remember wanting to play Candy Land when I was younger and my mother was eating, my father was watching TV (go figure, right?) and my sister was dating. I had to play by myself and that was no fun. Now c'mon, we have levels to _conquer_!" said Fran, punching the air and then elbowing him playfully in the arm.


	11. Eleven

**11.**

Maxwell Sheffield had to spend a hectic day at the theater, including of course, dealing with the menacing looks C.C. kept throwing at him for no apparent reason he knew of. Not to mention, returning home and having to deal with a few calls concerning future light and set coordinators, dates for costume shipping… etc. etc. Therefore, his meeting with Miss Fine was scheduled for a tad bit later on. He made sure that when his conversations were finished, Niles would immediately go and fetch her.

Niles forwarded the message to Maxwell that he had interrupted a "very intense and crucial game" according to Master Brighton, but what Max needed to discuss with Miss Fine couldn't wait any longer. She had to be aware that he must know where she is at all times and that this running off of hers was not going to be tolerated by any means.

Fran felt very ill at ease and uncertain as she stepped into Mr. Sheffield's office, following Niles. It would be their first time talking since the whole "_incident_."

When Niles winked as he walked back out the door, Fran felt even more uncomfortable.

Was he winking because he didn't know and Mr. Sheffield told him? Or perhaps, it was because he knew and expected something to happen between them in these short few minutes within the confines of the office.

Maxwell took a long, hard look at Fran before speaking.

_God, she's lovely… It figures that when I want to talk about a serious concern of mine for her, she just has to wear something so endearing._

He eventually adjusted his sight from her short, mod-like green skirt with a designed-on, flat white belt to her white, fitted, low-cut knit sweater and finally, to her eyes. It was there that he realized that they seriously needed to talk and he needed to not waste anymore time putting it off.

"Miss Fine, you have been avoiding me."

His voice sounded awfully loud in the silent office, yet it held a certain amount of hurt, concern, suspicion and most of all—truth.

Fran froze in her spot like a deer caught in front of a car's headlights and her breath remained trapped in her throat. Her eyes immediately turned to his and she desperately tried to search him for the answers to the numerous questions plaguing her state of mind.

_Does he know? Does he even remember? Does he want to take it to the next step? Or is he going to fire me? Is he upset because he expected me to be all over him after last night and is disappointed that I wasn't? What? What? Oh, no… If only I knew…_

Fran couldn't recall feeling as edgy and uneasy at anytime in her life before this. She quickly took up her old habit as a teenager and began biting her nails. Only, she really just nibbled at the edge of a fingernail for the moment.

Maxwell sat up straight in his chair and focused on Miss Fine. He thought nothing of her strange manner.

"I think you have been distancing yourself from me and—" he began, moving around the pencil he was gripping in his hand. Not too long ago he had had it stashed behind his ear, and looked like any man concentrating hard at his work.

Fran cut him off.

"No, I haven't," responded Fran, instantaneously and a little too skeptically soon.

"Well," started Maxwell, beginning to disagree, but then he realized that he didn't want to argue with her. "Can you at least tell me why you are never home anymore and have neglected to tell me where exactly you've headed off to?"

"Um—"

This time Maxwell didn't let _her_ finish.

"Not telling me about your whereabouts… not letting me know when you'll be back… I don't like it Miss Fine, I don't like it at all," lectured Maxwell, authoritatively stepping closer to Fran with each phrase, until he was eventually right in front of her with his arms crossed.

"Don't worry Mr. Sheffield, I assure you, it won't happen again," she seemed to say, scrambling all the words together.

Her heart was practically racing through her chest—the beats accelerating at his closeness.

"Please make sure that it doesn't. If you've forgotten, you _do_ have a job here," stated Max, firmly, who then took a breath before he continued. "I also wish to apologize for yesterday at the restaurant Miss Fine, I overreacted."

Fran huffed and rolled her eyes upward.

"Lemme guess, you were able to get their money anyhow?" queried Fran somewhat spitefully, knowing damn well that he never would have apologized otherwise.

"Well… ok—yes! The point is that we treated you terribly… oh, and did C.C. say anything to you?" remarked Maxwell.

"Yeah, she said she was sorry… or at least I think she did. You see, she had a couple powdered donuts in her mouth earlier today when she was talking to me—although I could've sworn it looked she _shoved_ them in there."

Fran furrowed her brow, thinking it over.

"I accept both yours and Ms. Babcock's apologies, Mr. Sheffield," said Fran, truthfully.

"I'm glad Miss Fine," replied Maxwell, grateful.

"Oh, okay! If that's it then I'm gonna go now."

He grabbed her wrist as she turned to walk away.

"No actually there's something else," he stated, taking a dramatic pause.

"Miss Fine, what happened last night?" asked Maxwell, his dazzling, hypnotic olive green eyes peering at her deeply, showing how serious and quite interested he was.

He was determined to know if his sleeping location was provoked by something more than hard liquor. In truth, he was worried about the coincidence of the setting of his dream being the same place as he woke up, but at the same time, felt too uncomfortable to actually tell Miss Fine anything about it.

Fran gulped.

This was precisely what she didn't want to hear. She was only a second away from making a clear getaway…

"Last night? I wasn't even here last night," she answered, while pretending to be careless and turning away from him.

When actually, she was afraid he could see right through her. In a way she was telling the truth though, because she really wasn't back until the early morning.

She had her arms crossed when he turned her a bit and walked in front of her.

"This was lying next to me on the floor…" he explained, holding up her necklace, while the pendant slowly spun around. "By the way, do you know how I ended up sleeping on the floor in the _kitchen_ Miss Fine?"

Fran automatically reached up to touch her neck and realized it was bare. She had left evidence at the scene of the crime! A scared chill had already made its way throughout her body—she had kept that necklace on for at least a full week without removing it (except of course when she went to sleep and took a bath) and he knew that! She loved wearing it and had acquired it from her mother after she had cleaned out her jewelry box and found the beautiful heirloom.

"I… um, I don't know all about your recent sleeping habits Mr. Sheffield… and my necklace… it must have fallen off—I guess. It's fairly old and the hook probably gave way."

He handed it back to her, another tremble flowing through her as his fingers brushed her palm. She then timidly put it on, the clasp not hooking until a couple tries.

"_Right_ next to me?"

"Heck, I dunno. Maybe? It could have fallen off yesterday morning when I was in the kitchen talking to Niles… _You know_, I bet it did! I'm so glad you found it for me."

Surprisingly, and for as much Fran would have betted her life on that he wouldn't, he _actually_ believed her.

"Oh, all right. I just wish I knew how I ended up on the bloody kitchen floor."

"Who knows?" responded Fran, shrugging her shoulders with her hands out.

"Too much liquor I guess. Serves me right," joked Maxwell, giving a lopsided smile and then placing his reading glasses back on.

"I guess…" Fran responded weakly and then awkwardly smiled.

Mr. Sheffield didn't seem to even notice.

"Oh and by the way, Julian called _only_ about fifty times today… a little _obsessive_ if you want my opinion. I suppose you ought to give him a call," informed Maxwell, somewhat snidely.

"Thanks…"

Fran gulped in a huge breath once she turned around to leave and then slightly shook her head.

"Good evening Miss Fine," he said as she departed.

Fran was too frightened to speak another word, so she only waved as she exited. After shutting the door, she leaned against it, her chest heaving up and down.

_So he doesn't know… that's good… isn't it? But then again, if he knew he might feel bad since he started it. Or at least I don't think he remembers. There was no trace of acknowledgement on his face… he would have mentioned it. If he knew, would he want me more or would he fire me for taking advantage of him in such a vulnerable state?_

_I was vulnerable too though…_

_UGH, BUT HOW COULD HE NOT REMEMBER?_

She instantly became mad and distressed when it all finally seemed to sink in. What Mr. Sheffield and she had both experienced was so delicious and wonderful…

_Even being under the influence of alcohol… that should have blown his fucking mind! His subconscious needs to pull that memory out of its ass and slap it right in front of that oblivious, yet gorgeous, producer's face! _

Fran, her brain still racking with thoughts, turned the corner a little too quickly and bumped heads with Niles.

"Ouch," they both cried out in unison and rubbed their heads. "Sorry"

Niles saw that Fran was okay and then laughed while straightening his suit jacket.

"Jinx, you owe me TWO sodas!" joked Niles, a Cheshire grin plastered on his face.

He got a serious look on his face and then stuck his hand out and repeatedly curved his fingers in, waiting for the beverages.

"Very funny Niles," replied Fran, shaking her head in amusement. "You ain't getting any soda pop from me!"

"Oh, shucks."

"Oy, sorry for running into you Niles, it's just that I've got a lot of things on my mind and I'm afraid I wasn't paying very much attention."

"It's okay Miss Fine, I'm all right and I'm sure that hair of yours alone provided a pretty good barrier!" he commented, chuckling.

Fran joined in his laughter.

"Niles, can I ask you a question?"

By now, the both of them had made it into the kitchen, their usual hangout spot.

"Certainly."

"You see this friend of mine—"

"Miss Fine! Every time someone uses that line they are only speaking of themselves! So you might as well just say it's you, because I'm going to believe it is anyways," declared Niles.

"Oh, all right—you caught me!" confessed Fran.

And Fran end up telling him the whole story of her and Mr. Sheffield, leaving out the details of the intensely intimate moments of course and making him fully aware of how distraught this situation made her.

"So _that_ explains the hickey…" he concluded.

She protectively shielded her neck with her smooth, delicate hand. Apparently she hadn't covered it up well enough with cosmetic concealer.

"NILES!"


	12. Twelve

**12.**

Several days later…

Maxwell replaced his spectacles and sat at his desk, pondering over a script. The young actor in his cast was right about a few of the lines needing to be changed for a new scene that was recently added not too long ago. The old, original wording simply just did not do and needed some revision. Even though to the naked eye it appeared as though Max really was tactfully scrutinizing the sentences, his mind had traveled very far elsewhere.

He laid down the packet and began to fiddle with a stack of post-its atop his desk, flipping the yellow cube over and over again until some of the edges curled up. For some reason he couldn't focus on any of his work—and that reason was Miss Fine. He couldn't help that his mind just constantly wandered onto the topic of her almost immediately these days when he paused for just a moment to think. Usually he was able tuck away any non-work related thoughts of Miss Fine away in a safe hiding place, but recently it seemed as if the dam of restriction in his body had let his feelings for her break lose—rushing them freely around his head. _His thinking space_. It wasn't right—he knew that. It wasn't proper—he knew that also. But he also knew that she was pretty damn gorgeous and who could blame him for admiring someone such as her who just happened to be in his employ.

Her. HER.

HIS NANNY!

Maybe it was this business of her and Julian's sudden long-term relationship that just scared him. Or perhaps it was that every single time something touched his mouth, whether it be a red delicious apple or even a slice of homemade chocolate cheesecake that Niles baked, he skipped over to ideas of feeling her lips against his own. Then again, it could be the fact that she was in such a positively rotten and dismal mood lately that it seemed as if she was carrying a storm cloud above her everywhere she went. Because of this, he felt bad for her and desperately wished to provide her some sort of comfort.

C.C. burst into the small office, halting his train of thought (or rather throwing it off the tracks,) with a cell phone securely pressed to her ear and clearly yelling at the person on the other end of the line. In short, she did not appear happy and since C.C. didn't have a lot of buddies, Maxwell just knew it was most likely work-related. He, therefore, frantically tried to grasp onto every word in an attempt to decipher the meaning of the conversation.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU'RE INJURED?!"

"And you didn't tell us this before…"

"Uh huh."

"Uhhh, huh. Sure…"

"OF COURSE YOU CAN'T BE IN THE SHOW!"

"_No_."

"VERONICA DOESN'T HAVE A BROKEN LEG OR A FRACTURED COLLAR BONE IN THE DAMN SCRIPT WOMAN! We can't exactly _add_ that in…"

"Uh huh."

"YOU CAN'T DO THE DANCE NUMBER ON ONE FOOT!"

"You're ridiculous."

"Yeah?

"You're just making a fool of yourself right now."

"Mhmm…"

"Is that so?"

"YOU'LL NEVER WORK IN THIS TOWN AGAIN!"

Click.

C.C. irritated, flipped her phone closed and started to pace the floor, huffing. She also began to flail her arms about.

"Who does she think she is? I can't believe this is happening…"

"What was that about C.C.?" asked a nervous Maxwell to his business partner. "Surely, you weren't talking to our lead!"

C.C. angrily nodded her head in response.

"We're a week away from opening!" wailed Maxwell in desperation, rubbing his throbbing temples. "What in God's name are we to do?"

"Well, for starters we're going to _have_ to postpone the show and since the back-up quit entirely, she's totally out of the picture. This means the opening probably won't be for another month or so because it will take at least a couple weeks to have the new girl memorize and practice her lines and all the dance moves for the part," elucidated C.C.

"I knew we should have found another back-up in the beginning just in case. Just goes to show you…"

"The others weren't fitted for the part and you know that Maxwell. Finding an understudy would have taken weeks more of casting and we were pressed for time then… the girl seemed great and we—well, we were fools."

"This is terrible… absolutely dreadful." said Maxwell in monotone, shaking his head glumly.


	13. Thirteen

**13.**

On the other side of town, Fran was feeling pretty down as well.

"Fran…Fran, please tell me what's wrong."

Shopping always seemed to perk Fran up and get her into a chipper mood. However today, she just really wasn't getting into the spirit of it and only had one small bag to show of her mall adventure. And even that was only from a quick trip to a make-up counter inside the shopping center's department store where Fran had purchased some mascara and eyeliner that she was currently running out of. Val had become concerned and decided it was time she confronted Fran. Particularly because once they had both became seated in Val's car, Fran had a sudden breakdown.

"I know they didn't have any sales today at Macy's, but there's always next week…" comforted Val, her hand rubbing Fran's shoulder.

"Oh, Val!" exclaimed Fran, pushing off Val's hand and still sobbing a bit. "To think my problems were caused by the lack of a low-priced special… I wish!"

"Oh Fran, I'm so sorry. Here, have a bite of my Oreo Blizzard!" she offered kindly, holding the cup in front of her.

To reflect her deep feeling of sadness at the moment, the rain began to fall lightly outside and then all of a sudden, much heavier. The patter of it was loud against the windshield and Val put the windshield wipers on even though they were still parked.

"Aw, no thanks, I'm not all that hungry…" replied Fran, but she still stared at it anyway.

Val shrugged and just as she was lifting up the spoon of ice cream and about to place it in her mouth, Fran took it from her hands.

"On second thought…" decided Fran in a soft voice, beginning to eat it.

"Fran!" yelled Val, pretending to be disappointed and smacking her lightly on the side of the head. She was willing to sacrifice her frozen dairy treat if Fran would be back to her old self again. Plus, Val didn't really believe she didn't want it in the first place, considering it was rare for Fran to turn down food, let alone any desert.

A small, fragile smile curved at the edge of Fran's lips.

Val pulled out of the parking spot and after exiting the mall lot area, she got out onto the main road.

"Now what's the problem Hun, huh?" asked Val, dearly concerned. "What or _who_ is raining on you parade?"

"Mr. Sheffield."

Instead of Fran's usually whiny self when she was upset, she talked with a more solemn tone in a small voice today. This was new to Val and she figured that Fran was totally down in the dumps.

Val rolled her eyes.

"Oh, boy!" she responded, knowing all too well that he always ended up causing some kind of unhappiness for her. "What is it this time?"

Val felt deeply sorry for her friend falling in love with him so hard when he didn't feel the same. She couldn't even begin to _imagine_ the heartache she was enduring.

"Well, I already told most of this to Niles, but not really the whole story. You're the only one who can really hear me out."

"Okay, so spill."

Fran proceeded to inform her of most of the happenings of the "intimate" night between her and Mr. Sheffield.

"Val, he's—he's never… he's never _ever _touched me like that before. I mean _really _touched me like he did," revealed Fran. "I can still feel the trace of him on my skin…"

The yellow glow from the stoplight in front of them appeared fast and Val slammed on the breaks right before the front line, a mere second before it turned red. They both jutted a bit forward and then quickly back, while the small, star crystal that was hanging on a string from the rear-view mirror rapidly hit around. The abrupt stop made things more dramatic considering the subject of interest in the air.

"Geez Val!" said Fran in response to Val's quick halt at the light.

Val recovering a bit, spun around to the right to face Fran.

"Sorry Fran, I'm just so _shocked_!" responded Val, reaching her hand out to the radio knob and turning down the volume on the Blondie song "Call Me" that was blaring from the speakers.

This was one of Fran's favorite songs, but she wasn't in the mood to sing and dance along right now.

"Shocked about what?"

"YOU HAD _SEX _WITH MR. SHEFFIELD!"

It was a good thing the windows were up or half of all the cars waiting at the intersection would have heard her proclamation.

"What?!" shouted Fran, shocked. "Val, c'mon now… were talking about Mr. Sheffield here. He can barely _say_ the word 'sex' let alone do the act."

"But Fran—I thought—"

Fran interrupted her.

"Val, we just made-out _intensely _and he felt me up a bit—okay, more than just a bit, but that's basically it. It was so spontaneous and exciting though… I felt like a teenager again."

"Wow Fran, wow... STILL! I'd give _anything_ to be in your shoes."

"No you wouldn't," joked Fran. "They might be cute and trendy, but I'm telling ya, they've given me these horrible blisters…"

They both laughed.

There was a green light and Val proceeded slowly forward, still a bit shaken up.

"But yeah, it was pretty darn close enough to it too… the closest I've ever been with him."

"So what's the problem then? I thought you wanted this to happen—and don't worry about offending me just because Julian is my cousin… whatever or _whoever_ makes you happy, makes me happy Fran," admitted Val.

Fran became quiet for a moment, staring around at the surrounding cars nearby and how their lights and those of businesses shined bright, blurry streams of colored light across the wet roads.

"That's good to know Val, but unfortunately that isn't the problem," divulged Fran.

"Then what is?" asked Val, still curious.

"HE DOESN'T REMEMBER!"

"What? What do you mean he doesn't remember? Did you knock him out? Men, they can be so—"

"Noooo! He was completely drunk at the time when he came onto me," explained Fran.

"Oooohhhh," said Val, dragging out the word.

"Yeeeaaahhh."

"So, like he doesn't remember _anything_ at all? Or are there certain parts he knows about or something like that?"

"As far as I know, he can't recall anything that happened to him after he downed all of his darling scotch."

"That's… a real bummer. That just blows Fran!"

"Yep, you're tellin' me."

"Well, what do you plan to do about it?" questioned Val, wanting to know the truth of how she was going to go about this odd situation.

"Nothing," she replied.

"Nothing?" repeated Val, confused.

"_Nothing_," confirmed Fran, simply and in weak spirits.

"I don't understand…"

Val furrowed her brow and Fran figured that the least she could do was give her lost friend an explanation.

"Val, if I tell him, it's only liable to bring us farther apart instead of closer together. He'll be wondering why I didn't do anything about it. Which reminds me… please just don't say a word to Julian, because I'm still really into him. I guess, I well—I really should have stopped him, but I just couldn't. He puts me under a spell and I just can't think right anymore."

"Oh, Frannie I know. Don't worry about it, because I'm not telling Julian," reassured Val.

All right, so maybe Val wasn't the brightest crayon in the Crayola crayon box, but she was the only one that had somewhat of an understanding of Fran and Mr. Sheffield's beyond complicated, so-called "relationship." Mostly because there were just some things that couldn't be talked about with Niles, such as the dreaded "thing" for instance. Not only is he real buddy-buddy with Mr. Sheffield most of the time, but he's also a man.

"Thanks Val," said Fran, with gratitude.

"No problem," replied Val, sincerely.

"I just wish he was—you know, sober at the time. I want him to know about it… about us—how good we can be together," confessed Fran.

"I know Fran," sympathized Val, with a look of pity plastered on her face. "It's a shame things have to be so difficult."

"That's the thing Val; _he's_ the one that makes it that way! I'm a very flexible, easy-going person and you know that. I've been plenty patient these last couple years and I'm dead tired of waiting."

"Of course."

As they pulled up aside the curb of the Sheffield mansion, Val still chatted on with Fran.

"If I were you, who I wish to hell I was, then I'd hang onto Julian for a little while to be on the safe side. Plus, you know how Mr. Sheffield gets when he's jealous…"

Fran took her suggestion into consideration and unlocked the car door. After all, the love of other men for Fran always seemed to increase her value in his eyes and made her even more desirable to him. Or, so she hoped.

"Toodle-loo!" she said in farewell, turning to her best friend.

"Bye Fran!"

As Fran opened the car door, she stuck her umbrella out into the storm and clicked it to expand it to its useful size. She then closed the door, swinging her purse with the small plastic bag of her make-up in it onto her shoulder. Fran walked slowly up to her current place of residence in the pouring rain, a million decisions and thoughts floating around in her head. However the hot, musty wet air gave Fran such a headache that she vowed not to bother with anything until sometime later on when she could think straight—a time essentially when all of the chaos and mass mind confusion settled down.


	14. Fourteen

**14.**

"Fran here?" questioned Sylvia, barging through the back kitchen door of the Sheffield residence.

She was sporting some bright pink spandex leggings underneath a large, shiny silvery shirt.

"Sorry Sylvia, I'm afraid you just missed her," answered Maxwell, who was sipping some milk from a glass.

"Oh, really…" said Sylvia, going over to the small table in the room and sitting down, her head drooping sadly.

"Anything the matter Sylvia? Perhaps I could do something for you?" asked Maxwell, giving his condolence as he took a seat by Miss Fine's mother.

"Well Mr. Sheffield, it's just, well—you'd think a daughter would like to pay her poor, old mother a visit every once in a while. I haven't heard from Fran in ages," she admitted, starting to weep on Maxwell's shoulder with her tears wetting the fabric.

Max sat his cup down and pulled his head back a bit with an uncomfortable kind of look covering his face.

"I'm so sorry to hear that. I could have sworn she paid you some visits, but she hasn't at all?"

"Nope, not once in _two _weeks! It's all because of that Mr. Ferraren she met—she just spends all her time with him," responded Sylvia, wiping her eyes with the back of her hands.

"Yes, I've noticed," said Maxwell, grimacing. "It's most unfortunate."

"Ha! I'm sure it _is _most unfortunate for you… For all I know, you're probably plotting some way to get me on your side to help you get Fran away from her boyfriend right this minute."

"Oh Sylvia, how dare you accuse me to be capable of such nonsense," exclaimed Maxwell, somewhat offended.

He got up from the table after Sylvia did.

"Kicking yourself right now, huh?"

"You have no idea…" admitted Max.

Sylvia walked over to the refrigerator and began to browse its contents.

"Sylvia, you've just got to do something! You must help me!" pleaded Maxwell, clasping his hands together and giving her a sad, puppy-dog face. "I'm desperate."

"Nope, sorry, I'm afraid that's _your_ problem. It's just not in my department. Plus there's nothing it for me and I'm happy that Fran has finally found someone long-term. Quite frankly, you're just not reliablehusband material for my taste—_always_ leading her on..."

"But—"

Sylvia interrupted. "_Always_ taking things back…

"You don't—"

She interrupted him once again. "_Always _messing up her relationships with other men…"

"I—"

And, yes ladies and gentleman, a third time as well. "You obviously don't know _when_ to stop…"

Maxwell didn't even attempt to get a word out of his mouth. She was trying to prove her point, and she was doing a hell of a good job at it too. He also realized that there really wasn't anything he could actually say to successfully back himself up and he'd just come out looking like an idiot.

"Oh, and I'd better tell ya now before I go and forget. I know you're gonna see Fran later, so of course I know you'll make sure to remind her to—"

"I'll make sure to remind her to spend some quality time with you, even if it means pulling her away from Julian for a bit."

"And?"

"_And _I won't do anything to make Fran unhappy in any way," added Maxwell, with much difficulty.

"Thank you… meanwhile Mr. Sheffield, this Chocolate Truffle cake is _divine_! You must get Niles to give me the recipe," said Sylvia, nibbling on some desert she found in the fridge with the frosting all over her mouth and fingers as she pulled herself out into view.

Maxwell chuckled, rolled his eyes, and shook his head.

"Hey, mind if I stay for dinner?" asked Sylvia, as she wiped off her face with a paper towel she found over by the corner counter in a plastic holder.

"Um… well, you see—" began Maxwell, stumbling over the words and scratching his head.

He desperately tried to concoct up some brilliant excuse, but none came.

"Great! So what are we having?"


	15. Fifteen

**15.**

Later that night…

"Maggie! How was the dance? See any cute boys?" asked Fran, as the eldest child of the Sheffield family shuffled in the door after attending the Spring Fling at school.

"Oh Fran, it was horrible!" declared Maggie, running over to Fran with tears rushing down her cheeks.

"Aw, I'm sorry… that bad?" said Fran, enveloping her into a hug.

They both walked over and took a seat on the couch, so Fran could attempt to find out why she was so miserable. Fran then soothingly rubbed Maggie's back while she told her story.

"Yeah, well you know that girl Jessica?"

Fran sat back on a pillow and racked her brain trying to remember, and then recalled that she was the one that Maggie frequently paraded around the mall with. She was a bit of a bossy, loud-mouthed, blonde girl who basically thought her shit didn't stink.

"Oh yes, that Gregor girl you hang out with…"

"Well, after tonight, not _anymore_!" proclaimed Maggie, clearly upset with the girl.

"Why Hun? Please, tell me what she did," said Fran, concerned.

"First off she lied! She told me that me, her, and this girl Katrina would all dance together there since we didn't have dates," relayed Maggie, wiping her teary eyes with her knuckles.

"And she didn't!"

"No, she didn't even say hi to me!"

"And to top it all off, she was all over Jesse Hughes and she _knows_ I like him."

"Not _your_ Jesse!"

"Oh, yes—_him_."

"Aw, that's terrible. She's a horrible girl and you don't need her Mags! She's not worth it. You are too good of a person to have to put up with her silly antics."

"It's just—I dunno. Why do people always have to treat me like that Fran?" asked Maggie, leaning her head on Fran's shoulder and looking off across the room sadly.

"Because you're a sweet, beautiful, wonderful person honey. Jessica was just jealous of how amazing you looked tonight and tried to get back at you for no reason besides that. Don't let her get you down, okay? I'm sure you had an alright time with Katrina, and the key is to make Jessica believe you did. Acting like you were perfectly fine without her company will really bother her and that's about the best you can do right now."

"Okay," said Maggie in a small voice.

Fran affectionately rubbed her arm and gave the insecure girl a reassuring smile.

"I love you Fran, and I'm glad you're always here for me when I need you," announced Maggie, giving her a loving hug.

"I love you too."

Maxwell stood in the doorframe on the other side of the room watching the two of them. He was only passing by, but stopped when he realized he had stumbled upon a troubling situation that involved his daughter. He was glad Miss Fine was there to comfort her in her time of need.

_Look how well she handled Margaret_, he thought. _She'll make a wonderful mother someday._

He walked off, not wanting to disturb them, with tears welling up in his eyes at such a warm, comforting picture they made. Maxwell never regretted the moment Fran Fine stepped into their lives and knew he never would.


	16. Sixteen

**16.**

The following afternoon, Maxwell seemed to have rapidly changed his perception of Fran.

"Miss Fine, just _where_ do you think you're going?" Maxwell asked, possessively.

Fran came down the stairs wearing a short-sleeve, black, button-up front shirt with a frilly collar and, and a knee-length, straight, white skirt with black lace trim. All in all, she looked very cute and fashionable, especially with her black Mary Jane's. Max eyed her admiringly. She could still look so WOW even wearing something lady-like and not as tight. Fran had her white little spring purse on her arm, so he figured she was on her way out and he could have sworn he just heard the doorbell ring. Yep, she was getting ready to leave with her date.

"Out with Jules," she answered sharply and a bit haughtily, as if he had no right to question her.

_Jules? _So now she already had some kind of nickname for this fellow. Maxwell almost threw up in his mouth. How he loathed this Julian!

"Well—I.. uh, well you can't! Yes, you can't go with him!" ordered Maxwell.

"_And why is that_?!"

Fran got up in his face, tilting her head and placing her hands on her hips while waiting intently for some kind of explanation to his demands.

"I'm afraid I need you tonight Miss Fine… um, you see I—uh, I have to have someone watch the children while I attend a meeting with C.C."

This was the third date in a row Mr. Sheffield ruined because of some, so-called "urgent business he had to attend to."

_Something smells fishy about all this and I know it isn't the shrimp Nile's cooked for dinner earlier. Why does Mr. Sheffield always have to be so inconvenient? All I wanna do is go out with Julian! _

"Can't Niles do it?" whined Fran.

"It's his night off Miss Fine," said Maxwell, in such a way that it made Fran feel bad and believe that taking Nile's day off was a mean thing to do and she shouldn't dare consider it.

"But Mr. Sheffield, that isn't _fair_!" disputed Fran.

Max scoffed.

"Miss Fine, I'm sure you won't _die_, you did see him yesterday if I do recall," stated Maxwell, still disgusted by her infatuation.

"Oh, but still! Are you sure this meeting is completely necessary?"

She looked him square in the eye.

"Absolutely."

Fran blew out a frustrated breath.

"For your sake, it better be Mister," Fran said forcefully, practically threatening him. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go say goodbye to Julian."

She started to walk towards the front door, but quickly turned around.

"Oh and another thing," began Fran. "You really need to draw me up a calendar of events or _something_, because I need to know when I am free! I have a steady boyfriend now and I would like to see him at least every _once in a blue moon_!"

_Steady boyfriend. Uggghh! Make me sick! _thought Maxwell. _This little charade is going on far too long. Her other dates were so predictable and short-term! _

She still stood there, waiting for a reply.

"That can be arranged."

He said it so softly, that it almost sounded like he whispered out the words.

Fran strode away from him and outside to where Julian was waiting on the veranda. It was very sunny and quite enchanting outside.

Julian warmly embraced Fran, some words were said and he appeared to be a little discouraged by what she had to say. They moved to the side. Maxwell who was watching them, shifted closer to the windowed door for a better look. They were too engrossed in each other to pay him any notice anyway.

When he got there, he placed a hand on the glass and stared in misery as Fran and Julian made out while leaning against the wall. It also seemed they were using their tongues _a lot_. Julian placed a kiss on her nose, she giggled… Fran laid her head on Julian's shoulder, then kissed him… and kissed him… he was kissing her lovingly and passionately back… brushing the hair out of her eyes…

Niles suddenly appeared right behind him.

"Enjoying the view sir?" he questioned.

"It's horrible, I can't even see between them—they are too close together," remarked Maxwell.

They still kissed and embraced… seconds ticked on… still kissing… hugging… gently touching… a few minutes later… snogging even more…

Maxwell let his hand slip down the glass of the door and not being able to stand or tolerate any more, walked away from the nauseating scene outside. Without turning around he said, "Niles, please get me some aspirin."

"There is no _meeting_, is there sir?" asked Niles, concerned about his boss' welfare while pretending to be innocent all the same.

Maxwell stopped in his tracks at his butler's words.

"Just get me the damn aspirin, will you!"


	17. Seventeen

**17.**

"Ma, you ate the whole box of Twinkies?" whined Fran as she stood in some baby blue heels, searching through the cabinets in her mother's kitchen.

Fran chucked the empty box into the nearest trashcan and then went back, slamming the cabinet door. Sylvia jumped at the sound and realized that her daughter was really bothered.

"Sorry Frannie, I know how much you love those…" apologized Sylvia with a slanted, guilty smile on her face.

Fran sighed upsettingly and plopped her dismayed self down at the small table in the center of the room.

"I'll be going to the supermarket later you know…"

"Oh Ma, I need to eat away the pain _now_."

"Bad idea!" exclaimed Sylvia while chewing on brownie she had removed from a plastic container.

"Like mother like daughter!" retorted Fran.

Fran went to the fruit bowl and took out an apple. She thoroughly cleansed it with water from the kitchen sink, dried it off with a paper towel, and then shined it up on her shirt. Apple in hand, she made her way back to the table to sit once again.

Sylvia rushed over to the table and grabbed the apple from Fran, just as she was about to bite off a piece, and threw it into the garbage.

"Ma, I wanted that! It was only a little apple, and it's good for ya!"

"Yeah now maybe… until later on it all comes back to ya and fills out your thighs in the worst possible way. You have a gorgeous figure and I won't let you ruin it."

"Maybe if ya ate like twenty melons, but otherwise I'm sure I would have been fine with just _one_ apple. It's only _fruit_… better than that brownie you're eating."

Sylvia ignored her and continued to eat her snack while she smeared some mayonnaise on some bread she got out to use for making her husband a sandwich.

"So what do you expect me to eat? I didn't have time to catch a lunch today! Besides I thought you were the one who told me when I was little that an apple a day keeps the doctor away."

"I did!" responded Sylvia. "But I changed my mind starting today."

"What? _Why_?" asked a bewildered Fran.

Sylvia turned around to face her daughter, hands on her hips.

"I changed my mind after this morning when I saw this cute, fairly young, Jewish surgeon move in across the street," she clarified. "I'd rather you _not_ keep the doctor away, if ya know what I mean. You see, he's a back-up in case things don't work out with Julian."

Fran rolled her eyes.

"Speaking of Julian, I just don't know what to do," revealed Fran, hoping for some motherly advice.

"Morty!" shouted Sylvia into the living room, "Turn the damn TV set down I can't hear Fran!"

The volume only went slightly lower.

"Don't know what to do with what Frannie?"

"The whole Mr. Sheffield business Ma! You know…"

"No I don't know Fran," admitted Sylvia, worried and setting down a plastic bag of turkey deli meat she had just opened. "I thought you were happy and things were going well with Julian."

"I am—at least I think I am… I dunno it's so complicated."

"Still in love with Mr. Sheffield?"

"Of course! That's the problem, I just can't get him outta my head… and he isn't helping either! I'm such a schmuck."

Fran rested her head down on the kitchen table.

"No you're not; just a fool playing the game of love."

"Syl, where's my sandwich? The wrestling match is on!" yelled Morty.

"…And let me tell ya, it doesn't get any easier as you age either," finished Sylvia as she exited the kitchen, delivering Morty his lunch before he really, seriously had a cow.


	18. Eighteen

**18.**

Days, weeks, _months _had gone by, and Maxwell Sheffield still had not even a fraction of an idea about what had happened in the kitchen that early Sunday morning in April. Fran was not any closer to telling him either, but then again why should she? After all, he didn't remember the incident and telling him would only bring them further apart, not closer together.

It was August now and Fran was feeling extremely depressed. She had recently broken up with Julian after a fairly long, roughly four-month long relationship (that was on and off again) which was pretty much the longest she has had in quite some time. Julian had turned out to be a complete and utter control freak. He didn't seem to be that way at first either. He acted like a caring gentleman, but after dating for such a long time Fran saw his true colors. He was soon telling her what to do, where to go, who to talk to, how to dress, how to act and other really demanding things. And after their past couple of vacations to some beaches during the summer, Fran also noticed that he had a reoccurring, wandering eye for other woman. A girl can only take so much, ya know. Plus, the way things were going, she would have ended up being in an abusive relationship or an unfaithful one with Julian cheating on her.

At least Fran got a nice summer glow out of all of this from the days she soaked up the sun.

"Miss Fine, please don't tell me you're still upset after breaking up with Julian… it's for the best, really," commented Maxwell as he entered the kitchen and saw Fran sulking around.

She pulled a gallon of Edy's French Silk ice cream out of the freezer and grabbed up a spoon out of the drawer. She walked over to the small table to sit down before she spoke to him.

"Who's best, _yours_?" she asked cattily, even though it was more of a statement then a question.

"Oh, Miss Fine!"

He took a seat next to her while she shoveled the frozen treat into her mouth like it was going out of style.

"What? It's not like you were ever happy with Julian dating me in the first place!" said Fran, her mouth full of ice cream, but she didn't care. "You never even gave me an_ ounce_ of friendly support."

"Well, I knew he was a Neanderthal from the start," admitted Max.

Fran turned to look at him.

"So glad you felt the need to inform me!" said Fran.

"Oh, it's not like you would have believed me in the beginning if I told you," replied Maxwell snidely.

"And why is _that_?" she asked in a foul tone, flicking her spoon in her hand off to the side, questioningly.

"You'd think I was jealous and was just saying things."

"Well, maybe because _most_ of the time you are!"

Maxwell felt as taken aback as if Fran had just slapped him across the face.

"Is that so?!" asked Maxwell loudly, standing up.

"Yeah!" Fran declared, standing up too.

"Well, it just so happ—"he began to retort.

Maxwell didn't get to finish his sentence, for Brighton had entered the kitchen and he didn't like to make himself look bad in front of his own children.

Brighton knew he interrupted some kind of argument, for there was a feel of tension hanging thick in the air. However, he hoped that if his Dad was still frustrated enough, he wouldn't bother debating his question of permission and would just say "yeah sure."

"Hey Dad—" started Brighton, twisting his Yankees baseball cap to the side.

"Not now!" shouted Maxwell at Brighton as he got up and left the room.

"What was that about?" asked Brighton, curious.

"Your father and I were just having a little tiff over something stupid, but of course I was right and he didn't want to admit it," explained Fran.

"I guess this wasn't a good time to try and ask him to get me tickets to the Nirvana concert? Me and Jeremy wanted to go."

Fran hated telling Brighton "no," but she knew she had to.

"No and besides young man, you both aren't old enough to attend a concert by yourselves. Not to mention, it's in Jersey."

"But Fran, that isn't fair!" protested Brighton.

"Honey this isn't Burger King, you can't have it your way!"

Brighton rolled his eyes.

"Aw, Fran, that's sooooo overused! You got that from Heathcliff Huxtable on the Cosby show!" whined Brighton.

"So maybe I did. I can't help drowning my sorrows in TV among other things, but the meaning is still clear, is it not?" questioned Fran, firmly.

"Yes," droned out Brighton.

"And do you think your father would say anything different?" asked Fran.

"No," replied Brighton, defeated.

If Fran wasn't going to cave, neither was his father. He should have known.

"Gosh Fran, you're such a mother!" kidded Brighton, his voice still showing his disappointment for not being able to go to the concert.

"Thank you," said Fran, yanking him to her with one arm and then affectionately ruffling his hair.

"Aw, Fran!"

Brighton pulled away but smiled at her before he left the room.


	19. Nineteen

**19.**

Maxwell drowsily opened his eyes and pulled back his expensive covers. His head felt glued to his heavenly soft pillow, but somehow he managed to un-stick it. It was that invisible force that drove him awake every night. Even as tired as he was, he knew he had to get up and check on his children like he always did. It was just an automatic response kind of thing for a parent to do. He could never understand what it was, but he always woke up sometime in the middle of the night to do it. Unless of course he was working at the theatre and came in extremely late, because then he would just do it before he went to bed.

Max was finally able to gather enough strength to lean up on one of his arms to support himself. He groggily lifted his hand as much as he could and placed it on the cold, smooth wood of his bedside table. He had to swish his hand a few times around on the surface, before he located the small box that was his alarm clock. He then took his hand and pushed the clock, turning it towards him so he could read it. The red numbers shined "1:14." Maxwell quickly blinked his eyes, for the bright red light in contrast to the dark room was quite blinding. When he fully opened his eyes again, he saw a slightly vague repeat of the numbers from his clock in his vision. It was like the squares you see after unknowingly looking at the flash of a camera. His sight was pretty blurred now, but he was still able to pull himself out of his bed. Buttoning his navy blue and baby blue-striped linen pajama top all the way, he staggered through the darkness of his room until finally slipping on his slippers that were by his dresser.

He slowly made his way over to his door, remembering its exact location in the darkness. When he pulled the door open though, he forgot to move back from it and he slammed it right into his forehead. He yelped in pain, but made sure that he controlled the volume of it as best he could so that he wouldn't wake anyone from their slumber. Maxwell did his best to navigate through the dim hallway.

He had gotten to bed many hours ago for once. The aspects of the play he was producing seemed to be going along very well at this point and he knew that if he didn't try to get some rest, that this would be the last time he would be able to. In particular, since it was only in the beginning process and casting would be long and tedious work. He had to be careful who he picked this time, because he couldn't have anything going wrong like in his last musical, where a mediocre lead with bad dance steps had to be picked at the very last second. Even though he had already slashed a couple hours, he still felt as if he hadn't been sleeping long.

Soon he came upon a door. It was Margaret's—or Maggie's as Miss Fine liked to call her. He opened it and peaked inside. Everything seemed fine, so he just went in to pull up her covers a bit and kiss her forehead.

After that, he went into Brighton's room and saw that he was shivering and almost completely blanket-less. Maxwell laughed to himself, thinking that his son must have had that ninja-fighting dream again. He picked his sheets off of the floor and made his bed, making sure his covers were firmly tucked in at the end of his bed, shall he have another battle. He lovingly ruffled the boy's hair a bit, knowing that he wasn't very fond of kisses like his sisters.

Last, but certainly not least, was Gracie's room. She looked okay at first, but as he glanced around her neat-as-a-pin room, he saw a bear off in the corner that had fallen out of her arms and off the bed. Max picked up her teddy and placed it near her open arm. He gave a soft kiss on her cheek and then retreated.

A last minute thought turned on a light bulb in his head and decided he would check on Miss Fine also. By the time he found his way through the dark hall, he remembered that he hadn't been all that friendly to her earlier on in the day and he felt the need to at least see how she was doing and ensure that she was sleeping alright. Maxwell slowly shut the door on his way in and crept up to her bed. The faint light from the streetlamps outside left a small trail of light across her sheets. Her face was somewhat illuminated and the nightly glow she possessed was breathtaking. Her curls spilled out across the pillow and gave her the captivating appearance of an angel.

Lured by her beauty, he padded his was across the carpet until he sat down on the empty side of her bed. Fran was a pretty heavy sleeper, so he knew he wouldn't wake her. Impulsively, he reached out and touched her cheek with the back of his hand, her skin feeling soft and delicate to him. Not being able to help himself, he suddenly pulled back the cool sheets and got in beside her. She almost instantly rolled toward him and draped her arm over his chest. He smiled at the innocent gesture that just happened to be very satisfying. It wasn't before long and he didn't count on it, but he ended up drifting off comfortably, sharing Miss Fine's personal resting area.


	20. Twenty

**20.**

"Mr. Sheffield, what are you doing here?!" half-yawned a shocked Fran, gently shaking his sleeping form.

She had wakened, feeling weight on her leg and shoulder. As she looked over, she realized that her boss Mr. Sheffield was sharing her sleeping space and was practically lying half on her. Fran was quite surprised, delighted and not to mention, totally turned-on.

He awoke, startled, and hastily looked at a confused Miss Fine and then scanned the surroundings. Maxwell stretched his arms out, still a wee bit tired.

"I… um…" he struggled, searching for an excuse. "You see Miss Fine, last night you had a bad dream… I heard you as I was walking back to my room after checking on the children. I must have, uh, fallen asleep here. Please, forgive me. I suppose I must have found your bed awfully comfortable."

Unbeknown to her, his justification was a bit of a stretch to what actually occurred.

She faintly smiled at him.

"Hmmm, that's strange; I don't even remember having a bad dream..." Fran scratched her head, baffled. "Thank you though… oh and Mr. Sheffield, it's no biggie. Now we're even!"

"Even?" he questioned, propping himself up by the elbow and raising an inquisitive eyebrow at her.

"Well, yeah! You see… I slept in your bed and you slept in mine, so we're even now," explained Fran, in an uncanny low voice.

She bit her bottom lip and along with her dark eyes, she appeared oh so very tempting. Fran flirtatiously leaned over him and drew small circles on his chest with her finger.

"You returned the favor."

Fran puffed the last word not to far from his mouth. At that time, she let go a charming, nasally laugh and playfully pushed him on the arm.

Her flirting with him in such an intimate setting made him very uneasy.

"Ah, I see Miss Fine," he responded, nervously chuckling at her boldness.

Fran lay back down, with her eyelids only partly open, as the earliness of the morning had not yet taken away all her sleepiness.

"I should leave before Niles walks in here and then gets C.C."

They both chuckled at Max's statement remembering how very upset C.C. had become when she believed Max and Fran had slept together. The chaos that had happened after the last time Max and Fran were found in his bed was not something they both wanted repeated.

"So do you think something really happened _that_ night? That we had… well, you know," wondered Max.

"_Sex_?" said Fran, daringly.

"Yes," he nervously gulped.

"I dunno, do you want something to have happened?" questioned a curious Fran, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

"What kind of question is that?" asked Maxwell, with a furrowed brow.

He wasn't exactly sure how to answer that.

If he and Miss Fine had actually engaged in sexual intercourse, he supposed it _wouldn't_ have been worth it since he didn't presently harbor the memory. However, the knowledge of it, if they did, would be somewhat pleasurable just because of the simple fact that they had. After all, Miss Fine is a vivacious and ravishing woman. Just to say that he _had_ shared a passionate night with her would make many men jealous, even if the moment could not be revisited during the precious daydreaming hours—not that he would have told anyone anyway.

"I'm not all that sure," admitted Fran.

"I guess we'll just never know and always wonder."

It was weird for Fran to hear Maxwell talk about such a sensitive topic with relative ease.

_So I'm not the only one trying to figure out what really happened. He's interested in it all too… _thought Fran.

"Anyhow, you mustn't leave yet, I do so enjoy the company… Too bad you can't sleep with my every night, you're so… warm… and… cuddly…" she teased and then giggled. "I rather think I prefer you to a teddy bear."

Maxwell blushed and widened his eyes. Not exactly knowing how to respond to such a comment, he decided to make a joke about it.

"Thank you Miss Fine, it's always great for one to know that they rank just a slight bit higher than a stuffed animal," replied Maxwell, pretending to be slightly offended.

"Oh, Mr. Sheffield… you rank much, MUCH higher and _I_ thought it was a rather nice compliment."

The beguiling, yet innocent way she looked with her head of sexy hair, in much disarray, resting upon her pillow gave him all the courage he needed.

"Speaking of _compliments_…" Max began to remark.

He paused to give her an amused face to show just what he thought of her so-called "flattering comments." His lopsided smile was so cute and boyish.

"That's a _very_ nice nightgown you have on Miss Fine," he finished, his face becoming dangerously close to hers.

"Oh," she breathily laughed because he was making her anxious. "This old thing?"

"Mmm… yesssss."

He traced the edges of her pastel yellow-colored lingerie while she took in a sharp intake of breath.

"Only, I find it more… _alluring_ than old," he admitted, retracting back some and skimming his hand down her bent, bare leg from her thigh to her calf.

"I-I… uh," Fran stammered, her eyes carefully following his every move.

The way he was leaning over her and having his legs on either side of her body began to make her feel very exhilarated, but jittery at the same time.

This time he _was_ fully conscious and not at all intoxicated, so he was trapped in responsibility.

The backs of his fingers gently caressed the higher, curved skin of her breast just behind the intricate white lace lining of her nightie, while he stared at her chest with his vibrant green eyes for the longest time. He slowly slipped one strap off her shoulder and then delicately ran his hand over that shoulder, down to her collarbone. After doing this, he slowly graduated his sight up to her eyes and gazed at those two sparkling brown pools of hers so heavily that it was hard for Fran to turn away. She found herself becoming lost in his own eyes.

She breathed in hard and turned away from his intense glare. She had to blink her eyes a few times to reassure herself she wasn't dreaming or hallucinating all of this. This happening was something she never would have suspected. Fran's lips stayed parted in amazement.

_Oh my gosh, he's touching me… in MY BED! Only in my wildest dreams did that ever happen._

He nuzzled her neck and inhaled in her delectable scent, closing his eyes. Maxwell declined closer towards her body.

"Ooohhh Miss Fine… you smell so… so _delightful_… mmmm. I can never get enough."

Fran almost died after hearing the words that spilled from his mouth.

He lifted her bent arms and placed them behind her so that they lay on the pillow. Max then ran his fingers lightly over her skin there. She jerked them a little, for his soft touch as endearing as it was, tickled.

They were fully necking on her bed soon after, their arms tightly wrapped around each other. If someone was to come through the unlocked door anytime soon, it would appear as if they were making love and since their bodies were halfway covered by lightweight sheets, you could only just barely tell they weren't. Fran arched her back and her hips as much as possible towards Maxwell's willing body. They grinded together rhythmically and Maxwell kissed her slowly, but affectionately. He was truly savoring her mouth and her taste. Fran grabbed Max's hair and pulled his head more toward hers. Meanwhile, his hand secretly snaked its way underneath her nightgown to right between her legs. Maxwell stroked her center gently at first, but then harder and faster. Her underwear was so very thin and he could easily and certainly _feel_ her as she could to him. She gripped her nails into his shoulders and breathed in harshly.

Fran thought she was going to lose it.

"Ooo… Ahhhhh… OH!" she moaned softly into his lips. "I want you so _badly_."

Max grinned devilishly at her reaction. He—HE could do this to her! Make her _yearn_ for his touch. It unleashed a very powerful feeling within him.

Even after his hand had let go, she was still throbbing.

When Fran looked at him, she found him staring once again into her eyes with raw lust shining in them. It was deliciously frightening and she gave him such a mind-blowing kiss that put shame to the one she placed upon him after that one kissing contest she went to with Maggie. He gratefully returned it just as incredible and even more so if possible.

They slid against each other again, hands freely roaming. The blankets surrounding them gave a sexual, bedroom atmosphere and a blurry sensual haze. It all made them almost forget they still had pajamas on and made them not think about putting on the brakes.

It even took Mr. Sheffield awhile to fully realize what was happening.

_This feels madly close to almost making love… TO HER_! _This is ruddy ridiculous! What am I doing?_

Maxwell pushed off of Fran, his eyes wild, and sat straight up as he completed recognized and comprehended what exactly he was doing. He had gone _way _too far—_inexcusably _far—off into the deep end this time with Miss Fine.

"_Oh, God_! Miss Fine! Please… please forgive me… I—I was completely out of line! I just don't know what to say. I don't quite know what came over me! I promise it won't happen again… I am deeply sorry for my actions," he apologized, watching her eyes quickly glaze over with hurt.

She had heard his excuses too many times before and this was just another occurrence she could add to her long list of _his_ regrets.

He hurriedly made his way out of the room, leaving a disappointed Fran underneath the rumpled sheets by herself. Her hand drifted over to her side, rubbing the warm sheet where he had laid not too long ago and she sighed. The ghost of his presence lingered there as well as on her skin.

Why couldn't he just give in freely or leave her alone? No, he always had to be in-between on things. Her relationship with Mr. Sheffield was like a fork in the road… and she never knew which way he was going to turn. Most of the time though, his "car" just sat idle between the two signs and she was forever in suspense of which route he would take.


	21. Twenty One

**21.**

Niles was passing near Maxwell's office and decided to stop in the doorway. He had a long discussion with Fran earlier and decided that he'd have a little fun teasing Mr. Sheffield about it. He peeked in with his head and let a sly remark roll out of his mouth.

"You never tuck _me_ in!" exclaimed Niles, pretending to be upset with the edges of his lips turned way down.

He was going to just say it, give the puppy dog face, and leave, because he knew his boss was very sensitive and he wasn't into getting him too riled up. Nile started to walk down the hallway again, but Max called him back.

Maxwell looked up at him in alarm and threw his reading glasses down to the table. He was far too humiliated and cornered to say anything at the moment.

"Oh ho ho! So something _did_ happen!" partially laughed Niles, smiling devilishly like he had everything all figured out.

Maxwell opened his mouth to say something, but then unsure how to exactly phrase what he was going to say, he closed it.

"What—or, or _who_ do you take me for Niles? You think I'd be such a cad as to take advantage of Miss Fine in her very own bedroom?"

"Oh, of course not sir… you're absolutely right. That wouldn't be like you at all."

Maxwell replied back with a small smile that turned a bit crooked and "I'm caught"-looking as soon as Niles turned his eyes away.

"So nothing happened between you two?" questioned Niles, trying to get the story right.

"Must you be such a yenta, Niles? _Nothing_ unruly occurred. You remember when Miss Fine woke up in my room about a year or so ago? Well, it was precisely like that," explained Maxwell, attempting to sound sure of himself and sincere.

Niles still didn't look entirely convinced.

"Look, she had a bad dream, and she sounded upset by it as I walked the upstairs hall last night to check on the children. I went to comfort her before she woke up Maggie, Gracie, and Brighton, and I was so worn out from work that I drifted off! It was an honest mistake."

"Sir, I believe you. I really do."

_He's a terrible liar_, reflected Niles, laughing inside.

"Hmpf, well stop backing me into a corner then!"

"Of course, of course! I _do_ hope you forgive me sir.

"Yes, yes," began Maxwell, who then abruptly paused to think. "Wait! What does she tell you every bloody thing that happens between us?"

He smirked.

"Noooo, of course not sir," replied Niles.

"I have a feeling you're being _quite_ sarcastic Old Man." asked Maxwell, thoroughly disbelieving him.

He leaned back in his chair with his hands folded behind his head.

"Well if you're going to be like that…"

"Fine, like what does she _not_ tell you? Or should I _dare_ not ask?"

He knew both him and Miss Fine were chatterboxes. _And_ personal happenings were never restricted from their so-called "casual" conversation. He knew that for sure. Therefore, who know what sort of intimate details she could have relayed to his gossipy butler, and who knew which ones she spared…

"It starts with 'the' and ends with 'thing,'" responded Niles finally, after some thought.

"Well, don't expect to drag it out of me man."

Maxwell shook his head and returned back to his work. Miss Fine probably only told Niles a tiny portion of what had happened anyway, so there was no _real _need to worry. The only person she truly confided deeply in was Val, because she was a woman and her best friend. Even so, he supposed he had no right to be mad at Miss Fine for making absolutely any matter between them public, since he did always try to take back whatever happened between them when he had his doubts. And therefore, he really did deserve it just for leading her on all the time.

Somehow, if she'd even let him, he _had _to make it up to her. Whenever he _actually_ got the chance, that is. And hopefully things wouldn't betoo awkward between them. No wait, no he _couldn't _do that. It _would_ be too awkward between them! How could he possibly stand to be in the same room with her after—after _that_? How could he meet her eyes? What he had done was unpardonable and impossible to explain. Well, truthfully it was somewhat possible to explain. She was there—willing and ready, and he had let his guard down. He was thinking with his body instead of his head, and ended up foolishly letting his extreme urge to be so utterly close to Miss Fine take full control of his common sense. And dammit if he hadn't stopped himself and realized what was happening, before it was too late; he might have actually went all the way with her. Unless of course, she refused…

_God, what if that had happened? _he frantically pondered. _There would be turning back. There couldn't be. What would have happened to us? What's going to happen to us? I can't bear to lose her… I'll never cope if she leaves. What if she leaves? She's probably lost all respect for me now. She's probably packing her bags this instant and getting ready to walk out the door. Why did I do that? I'm her employer and I took advantage of her… How does that look? She probably thought I was just in for a one-night-stand. There are so many more words I need to say before we really, physically get close. I don't want her to think of me that way. I want her to know I care and I definitely want her to feel safe and comfortable here in my home and now I took that away from her. She'll never forgive me—I just bolted out without a logical explanation for my actions. I'm such a BLOODY IDIOT!_

Niles returned back to the foot of Maxwell's desk. He knocked on a stack of books to his right to get Maxwell's attention.

"Oh sir, I almost forgot why exactly I came by—_really _came by. It was to inform you of a call I received earlier while you were out… Ms. Blackwood's publicist says to be ready for Deborah… oh I'm so excited! Anyway, she's to be here at eight o'clock sharp tomorrow. Got that?"

Maxwell looked to be too engrossed in his papers to even look up, but he was actually too engrossed in his thoughts.

"Yes, thank you Niles. Please prepare for our guest and close the door on your way out."


	22. Twenty Two

**22.**

"Ms. Blackwood, it's truly an honor to finally meet you in person!" exclaimed Niles excitedly as he met the tall, beautiful and fairly famous singer/actress/model/everything-else who had just walked into the Sheffield household that very Wednesday morning.

He appeared all googly-eyed and lovesick for he was secretly a tad smitten with Deborah. Niles held out his hand for Deborah to shake, while C.C. stood aside, a bit jealous and annoyed at how much Niles was star struck.

Frankly, C.C. wasn't all that impressed with Deborah Blackwood. Her revealing outfits made her look cheap and tawdry, not to mention her acting wasn't all that fabulous. However, she had to admit that if there were some well-known, good-looking people cast in this new musical, more of the public might be drawn to see it.

C.C. and Maxwell had hit a lot of bumps in the road with their past play and weren't very proud of it to say the least when it was finally finished. Not to mention, ticket sales were pathetic and lots of money and time was wasted and down the drain.

Debbie laughed haughtily, as if being drooled over was a usual daily ritual for her and was expected of people she came in contact with.

"Charmed, I'm sure," replied the woman, already bored and limply clasping Nile's hand.

Her voice was not very mature sounding and was of resemblance to a young girl's.

"For who are you here to see Madam?" asked Niles.

C.C. smacked Niles on the arm. "Who else bozo? Obviously Maxwell!"

C.C. grabbed the woman's arm and started to lead her out of the room after she announced, "Right this way…"

Deborah's salon-straight, long blonde hair flowed behind her with grace and sophistication. Meanwhile, C.C. cringed at her plastic surgery superstore beauty. Her nose had no bumps, her lips were perfectly plump, and her boobs had definitely been enlarged since that last Levis commercial she starred in…

"Well hello Ms. Blackwood, please take a seat," greeted Maxwell in his usual attractive and intelligent-sounding voice. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

He stuck his hand out toward her to shake her hand and she complied.

"The pleasure is _all_ _mine_."

"Please, make yourself at home," he suggested, hinting toward the small sofa by the direction in which his hand was pointing.

And she did, plopping herself down on the loveseat and making herself very comfortable.

"Please, call me Deborah," she requested, but instead of it seeming friendly it had an evident seductive air about it that was directed mainly toward Max.

Maxwell unconsciously stared dreamily at her, as her looks did not fly past him completely.

She then proceeded to ask about the basic storyline of the play and got the script of the person she was trying out for.

After a few moments of private auditioning, Deborah proved to be talented, or at least in Maxwell's olive eyes. Not to mention, her good looks and fame would bring a much broader audience opening night and those others to follow. It would automatically _guarantee_ a long run! Max didn't even ask C.C.'s opinion, for he suspected that she was truly amazed by Ms. Blackwood as it was. Too bad she really wasn't.

"Your acting is quite first-rate… you have the part of Isabella!" Maxwell congratulated her, after witnessing Deborah Blackwood's try-out.

C.C. lightly patted Debbie on the back—her own little way of saying she did an okay job, knowing full well Maxwell wouldn't be persuaded otherwise. Plus, she was certain to be reliable, and that was what they needed most since their last play. Back then, their lead had injured herself and quit, and they had to desperately run around and search for a replacement soon or their musical wouldn't show for another decade. Even thought they found another, the whole performance given was a complete failure and utter embarrassment. The show barely ran, but a few days.

"I'm going to enjoy working with you," commented Deborah, but then quickly added, "You _both_!"

Maxwell stood up to shake her hand, but hers was turned down as if she assumed he was going to kiss hers. Nevertheless, he shook it anyways, awkwardly clasping it in the position it was in. He was not one of those people comfortable being even semi-intimate with strangers—even if it _was _a woman who looked like her.

Deborah pulled back, not entirely disappointed from the looks of her mega-watt smile. Then again, who would be disappointed after winning a very prestigious part in a play that practically had a Tony in the bag?

_He's a tad bit shy and reserved, but I can change that._

She gave Max a hug that was more of a quick squeeze, realizing that he wasn't going to take any initiative to get close to her, even if he did hug back. After letting go, she strutted over to the green leather loveseat and sat down with her legs crossed.

"Thank you, this _really_ means a lot to me!" she said jubilantly, as she nodded and placed her hand over her heart.

A fisted hand was left resting on the right side of Debbie's face, her elbow on the armrest of the loveseat as she listened intently to Maxwell and C.C., or mostly Maxwell at least. It was also noticeable that she would ever so occasionally allow that hand to brush her cheek in a caressing way.

"What got you interested in this area of acting?" asked Maxwell, his attention all on Deborah.

"Broadway's always been a secret passion of mine really," confessed Debbie, her crystal blue eyes sparkling and gazing intently at Max. "Movies aren't as emotionally shaking and real as Broadway plays and musicals can be, you know. Plus all the singing and dancing really uplifts my spirit!"

_What a bunch of crock!_ _What a load of absolute bull!_ thought C.C. privately to herself.

Deborah Blackwood whipped out her compact out of her purse and began reapplying her make-up. She started off by first smoothing a concealer stick underneath her eyes and then rubbing it in.

The door of the office suddenly opened and Fran appeared.

"Miss Fine, what did I say about this being a private meeting?" asked Maxwell, rather annoyed.

Fran gave a quick, non-meticulous glance over to the tiny sofa and then swung her hand around to reveal that she was holding a relatively small box.

"Oh, well this package was just delivered an—" Fran started to say as she handed Maxwell the little cardboard box, but as she looked over again to the person sitting on the loveseat, she instantly became mute in surprise.

The room took on a deathly silence and all that could be heard was the abrupt closure of Deb's powder compact. Who quickly threw it back in the top opening of her brown buckled purse and jumped up out of the seat on which she was sitting.

"Fran?!" gasped Deborah, squinting her eyes, moving closer to Fran and then cocking her head.

"Yes… yes, it's unmistakable—Fran Fine!" she concluded, thoughtfully grasping her chin and then letting her hand flick off to the side and then back to rest against her cheek.

Debbie recognized her at once and her jaw dropped dangerously low. "Oh God! I never thought I'd run into you again… _what a delight_!"

Fran grinned awkwardly and then tilted her head a tad bit, furrowing her brow. She had to carefully analyze the movie star to see if she was right.

"Deb-borraaah?!" greeted Fran, still somewhat unsure if her memory was serving her correct.

"Mmmhmm… So Frannie, whatcha been up to?" asked Deb, wondering and twirling a stray strand of hair around her finger.

"Nothing much, I—" started Fran, but she was interrupted by Maxwell.

"Miss Fine, _you_ know Deborah Blackwood _personally_?!" questioned Max, fairly impressed. "I wasn't aware you two ladies were acquaintances."

_Good. He calls her Miss and by her last name… they can't be too close, _thought Deborah to herself.

"No, she just happened to have a lucky guess at my name," said Fran sarcastically. "Of course we both know each other, Mr. Sheffield!"

Fran was still infuriated at Maxwell for the way he had ran out on her the other day without explaining himself.

"You could say we go way back. Old friends," further explained Deborah.

"Well, well well…" responded C.C., rather astonished, then again, they both dressed relatively similar—Deborah's outfits just cost more.

C.C. and Niles were standing off to the corner of the room.

"Should have guessed… they both probably used to run a call-girl business," murmured C.C. to Niles, hitting her elbow into his arm as she knew he would find it funny.

"How did you both meet up?" questioned Maxwell.

Deborah glared at Fran hard, almost as if telepathically trying to inform her not to say too much. Fran stared back, sending her own similar wish across.

"We both used to work at a night club in Cali," answered Fran.

"Miss Fine, you never told me you used to live in California," remarked Maxwell.

"Yeah, well I moved there a few years after high school. I wanted to get away from everything and be somewhere new. It was only for a short time."

"_Short_, but memorable… soooooo speaking of such, are you seeing anyone lately?" questioned Debbie, innocently.

Maxwell leaned back in his chair, carefully listening to the intriguing ladies' conversation. Of course, any woman would be interested in another's love life. He was felt extremely glad that Fran was no longer with Julian.

"I was with this guy Julian, but he turned out to be a real jerk… I'm not really seeing anyone socially really… at the moment. And you?"

"_THE_ FRAN FINE IS SINGLE?! I AM SPEECHLESS!"

"Oh, please…" said Fran, blushing and swatting the air with her hand.

"Ah, no kidding! I'm in the exact same boat. I used to be with my husband Bernard Thomas the third, you know the beloved and wealthy socialite? Well, he turned out to be a real jerk too after awhile and I told him we had to go our separate ways."

"So sorry to hear that. I guess I know how you feel too," empathized Fran.

"Oh, don't bother feeling sorry for me, he really wasn't worth it anyhow…" said Deborah, honestly, who then scanned over Fran's outfit. "Wow, ya know, you dress so conservative now—cute, but conservative all the same…"

C.C. laughed so hard that she spit out the dark roast coffee she was drinking far out in front of her.

Everyone glared at her strangely—Maxwell, Fran and Niles soon chuckled, knowing full well that Fran and conservative were as different as hot and cold water.

"I don't get it, what's so funny?" asked a perplexed Deborah. "She better not be laughing at me!"

"Don't mind her, she hasn't taken her medication yet," said Niles, indicating C.C.

C.C. growled and walked out of the office for a moment to herself.

"Bottle's on the kitchen counter!" yelled Niles after her. "…And I don't mean the Sherry! That's for my cooking tonight."

"Good God old man, you never do quit, do you?"

Maxwell stood, grinning at his mischievous butler.

"A butler's job is never done! I'm a hard worker and it just so happens that terrorizing C.C. is my second occupation."

Fran laughed and turned to Deborah.

"Well, I kinda have to watch what I wear and dress properly, because I _am_ a nanny now," explained Fran, gesturing over her outfit.

"Haha—ha woah, ha um, that's fantastic! I never knew you were a _nanny_! I suppose you look pretty hot then," stated Deb, a little more than amused at Fran's pathetic job.

"Thanks…_I think_."

"I was beginning to wonder your place here… "

Deborah's petite, well-groomed hand circled around, referring to the whole house.

"What?"

"I was curious as to why you were in this Broadway producer's home unless the two of you were _involved_…" she commented with an odd sort of gleam in her eyes.

"Oh, well being a nanny here is a live-in job, so… yeah that's why," clarified Fran, not giving any attention to the involvement of her and her boss.

"_Ah_, that explains it."

Maxwell felt extremely optimistic and carefree at the moment, because his play was looking promising and Deborah seemed dedicated to the part that so demandingly needed to be filled. He was also glad that Fran was at least giving him the time of day since "the bedroom incident" even though he knew he didn't deserve it. Long ago, he had zoned out of Debbie's and Miss Fine's small talk, so he really hadn't heard too much of it.

"Oh Mr. Sheffield, I just remembered something I have to tell you," said Fran.

"Well then, Miss Fine come over here and tell me then!" invited Maxwell welcomingly, smoothing his hand over her empty edge of his desk to get off some overlying dust. Not surprising it was there, for she hadn't parked her toches there for quite some time.

She unconsciously, sultrily sashayed her hips as she made her way over to him and he _had_ noticed. Fran unenthusiastically hopped onto her desk corner and faced him with her body but not her eyes, for she was still upset with him. He still sat back and enjoyed the view in front of him, arms crossed.

"Before I answered the door and got that package, the nurse of Gracie's school called. Apparently, she's a little sick so I'm gonna go by the school and pick her up."

"Oh, that's too bad she's not feeling well. I do hope she's all right… and thank you," he said, leaning forward to place his hand on her thigh. "It'd be fine if you went to pick her up and bring her back here where she can rest."

Fran then slid off and returned to the front of the room, Maxwell's eyes following her every move.

_Yes, this is definitely going to be tricky…_ pondered Deborah.

She couldn't believe they were so formal with the "Mr. Sheffield" and "Miss Fine" mumbo jumbo. There was some obvious sexual tension between them and it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure that out. The formalness had to be some kinky joke she wasn't apart of and in short, she was not at all happy. She had thought this was going to be easy, because they weren't involved. Apparently they were, and they just kept it under wraps.

"Debbie we should really get up to date on each other," suggested Fran.

"We'll chat later okay! Meet me at the Starbucks up the street around two o'clock," said Debbie perkily.

"All righty!" replied Fran, who then left.

Deborah stared at the closed door in which Fran had just departed from.

No way was Fran going to take away another man she wanted! Maxwell Sheffield's sexy British accent drove her wild and she just _had_ to have him. So, like giving a child a lollipop and cartoon band-aid to forget the shot they just received, Debbie was going to find a man for Fran so that she would forget Maxwell. She wouldn't be conning her, because it would be a win-win situation and soon they would both get what they wanted. But the chemistry between Fran and Maxwell was so very strong that it would have to take someone irresistible.

Someone Fran couldn't refuse.

_Someone _from her past…

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you all for your kind reviews! I really appreciate it. : )

-Trixie-


	23. Twenty Three

**23.**

"Thanks for picking me up Fran."

Gracie croaked out the words as Fran met her in the nurse's room in her school.

Fran sat down her handbag on one of the waiting chairs and rushed up to Mr. Sheffield's youngest, giving her a most comforting hug.

"Aw, you poor baby," crooned out Fran as she looked at her painful expression.

She felt the little girl's forehead and cheeks in a motherly-like fashion.

"How do you feel?"

"Not so good," answered Grace, her face scrunching in.

A rather plump nurse with dark skin and curly brown hair came over to them from across the room. She had a genuine, caring smile on her face.

"I think you should take her home and let her get some rest and if she still feels bad, then I suggest you take her to a doctor," she advised.

"Oh, I will," agreed Fran.

"I know I really shouldn't miss school this early in the beginning of the school year—I mean, it's only September, but I can't help being sick," proclaimed Gracie, feeling utmost regret.

Fran chuckled to herself at Grace's response. How many times had she given anything just to miss school? Faking pain… missing the bus… putting a heating pad on her head… pretend nausea… the list went on and on. Even during school, Fran had always somehow ended up conning the nurse into thinking she was ill. This way she was able to get the opportunity to rest for quite a while on the cot in the health room by the time her mother came by to pick her up. Yet, this small girl had remorse for being sick and missing _half_ a day. Unlike Fran, Gracie was _all _about her educational experience.

"_Oh honey_, don't worry about it. C'mon, let's get ya home."

"I'm gonna go get a drink," announced Grace, and with their okay, she walked out to take a quick sip from the water fountain in the school hallway.

Meanwhile, the nurse gave Fran a clipboard to sign Gracie out. Fran gave her signature on the line and handed the clipboard back.

"It's so nice for Gracie to have such a concerned nanny," complimented the nurse.

"Thank you... and goodbye now!" replied Fran sweetly as she went to go meet Gracie out in the hall.


	24. Twenty Four

**24.**

That night…

"Miss Fine, how is Grace doing?" inquired Maxwell, as he entered the dim living room after a long day at the theatre. He was in quite an exhausted state and it took him at least five minutes of struggling before he was able to remove his jacket and hang it up in the coat closet.

Fran sat up on the couch pillow she was laying against and grabbed the VCR remote at her side, pausing the James Bond movie she was watching so that she could hear him better.

"What about Gracie?" asked Fran, giving him her full attention.

"How is she?" he asked once again, moving closer to her.

"I think she's okay, I gave her some cold medicine an hour or so ago and got her to go to sleep."

"I do hope she gets better…"

"I could go and check on her again if you want," offered Fran, in a voice that sounded like she was genuinely concerned.

She cared about little Grace just as much as Mr. Sheffield did, and thus felt just as bad for her for having an illness that was paining her so. However, Fran had to admit that she desperately wanted to get out of the room and be as far from Mr. Sheffield as possible.

"No, no, that's all right Miss Fine. I think it's best that we just let her rest," replied Maxwell, taking a seat next to her on the sofa.

_Why, oh why, can't he just leave me alone? _

"So how did the mocha latte date with Deborah go?"

"Fine, just fine. She had to rush off to meet with her agent halfway through though. Gotta love those movie stars…"

He expressed amusement at her response.

Fran then reached out to the coffee table to the grab up the large, clear, Tupperware bowl of popcorn with movie theatre butter. She placed it on her lap and gathered up a few, plopping them into her mouth.

"What are you watching?" inquired Maxwell, reaching his hand into the popcorn bowl around the same time as Fran.

Their fingers bumped each others, and after the awkward moment, they both scooped up the desired amount of popcorn they wanted. Fran had calmed down by now, and decided she'd speak to him, but only if he spoke to her first. She wasn't exactly in the mood to be extremely chatty.

"James Bond: Diamonds Are Forever. _Only_ one of my favorites of course! Mainly because I just love the theme song! Shirley Bassey's voice is amazing… Oh, and ya made me stop it during the best part too!"

"Who's in this one?"

"Hottie Sean Connery of course. Duh!" responded Fran, giddily.

"Care if I join you?" requested Maxwell, with his arm on the sofa and his head resting on his hand.

He turned toward her and had a twinkle in his eyes. He seemed to be legitimately interested in watching the classic film with her—much to her surprise.

"I—oh, I don't mind… you might as well, since you've already taken a seat and all."

Fran smiled and he smiled back at her. His was a nice smile—a simple, relaxed one that she hadn't seen planted on his face in quite some time. He also had his eyelids drooping wearily low, for he probably had another hectic day and a troubling actor to deal with at his job. Hopefully, he wouldn't be too tired to stay awake during the rest of the runtime of the movie. That would really be a shame.

She was secretly pleased just to know that he wanted to accompany her on her movie night though, even if she was still a tad bit flustered and upset following that occurrence in her bedroom with him. She'd figured that he'd be too embarrassed to even _be_ in the same room with her ever since. However, he proved her wrong and was not as predictable as she had once labeled him to be. Something had to have gotten into him, but whatever it was, she was prepared to get used to it—in a good way.

"However," began Fran in a firm voice, "I refuse to start it over even if it is already towards the middle!"

"Agreed. Agreed. Just press 'play' already Miss Fine!"

"Well, well, _well_ aren't you one _anxious _little school boy?" questioned Fran in a teasing tone, thrusting out her arm for the remote.

He halted her hand though, before she was able to get to it, by grabbing her arm. Without delay, they both turned towards each other and their eyes locked. As in, his stunning, mysterious, vivid greens matched up perfectly with her entrancing, compassionate, warm browns...

"I must admit, I'm always _anxious _to be near to you Miss Fine," confessed Maxwell in a low, tender voice.

He gently caressed the skin beneath her jaw with his hand, and affectionately tucked a loose, silky strand of hair he noticed earlier behind her ear. Subsequently, his hand slowly dropped down to his lap, and he never did break his gaze since he first started touching her.

Fran turned away from his stare and nervously laughed, reaching once again for the remote.

"Wait!" exclaimed Maxwell, "No, not yet… I need to get myself situated first."

Fran had a questioning look in her eyes, while he loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top few buttons on his black and silver striped, collared shirt. Then, he ran a hand through his hair, boldly snuggled up against her, and draped his arm over her shoulders. She gaped at Mr. Sheffield, open-mouthed.

"Now you can start it."


	25. Twenty Five

**25. **

It's November now in the city, and the neighborhood streets are strewn with beautiful, multi-colored leaves. The air is chilly and brisk, with a hint of mystery and uncertainty—enough for many to put away their windbreakers and button-up their heavier coats. The cold weather causes many residents, and visitors alike, to seek shelter inside warm stores, theatres, and entertainment facilities. This of course, is beneficial to certain Broadway producers and even _runway models_...

Presently, Deborah can be found carousing backstage at a fashion show. She had just modeled a gorgeous periwinkle evening gown from a collection put together by one of the finest haute couture icons of the present time. Agents and designers were swarming and embracing her, delighted by her short moment of success.

"God Debbie, I'm so jealous. You look breathtakingly elegant in that dress," pointed out a fellow model as she let down her hair.

"Aw, thanks Denise!" replied Deborah, still gazing at herself in a beautiful, full-length mirror and turning a few times with her hands on her hips. "You're too kind."

"I'm so glad we get to keep everything! You know, you should wear yours to the benefit ball next Saturday… I'm wearing mine," suggested Denise, a sparkle in her eye.

That was when it dawned on her—the perfect opportunity to obtain that hunky Broadway producer she had her eyes on for a long time now. That event was _key_! All she had to do was keep Fran busy with some other man and she, herself, could seduce Maxwell… It was genius! Absolutely fool-proof! Fran wouldn't know and Maxwell would be so hurt once he saw Fran with someone else that he would immediately cling to Deborah… The only problem was getting that certain someone for Fran to show up.

"You know Denise… that _is _a most marvelous idea! Excuse me for a moment."

"Of course."

Deborah rushed off to the ladies room (lounge, really) and as soon as she got there she flipped open her mobile phone and immediately navigated to the designated area—her contacts. Scrolling through the long list with haste, she eventually came upon the name she was searching for and selected it. The number was immediately dialed and she waited for someone to pick up.

"Drake Wilder's publicist, speaking," greeted the voice on the other end. "State your name and purpose."

All she had to do was talk one word and the lady was already apologizing.

"Oh, Deborah Blackwood, pardon me! Of course you may speak to him. I'll go get him right away…"

"'Ello?" spoke the sexy male voice finally. "Deborah? _Deborah Harry_?! Deborah Harry from Blondie?! Gosh, wow, I…"

Debbie rolled her eyes.

"No silly, Deborah _Blackwood_! Don't you remember me Drakie?" said Deborah in an enticing sort of tone.

For a few seconds, he desperately racked his brain, trying to remember exactly who the woman was. And then it came to him.

"Ah, yes… _Deborah_… we met up in France last year, correct? I was with my band and you were modeling in Paris? It was a pleasure meeting up again. A pleasure, _indeed_."

"Oh yes!" replied Deborah, glad that he recalled their last get-together. "So I hear you're back in New York?"

"Yes, I am actually."

"Good, good. Hey, I have a favor to ask of you."

"Yes? Ask away."

"Well, the Benefit Ball is next Saturday and…"

Drake audibly sighed.

"Deborah, Deborah, Deborah… we've been over this before. I really don't—" he began, but he was soon interrupted.

"Save it Drake, I know you have no interest in me that way. You see, there's this _woman _I'd love for you to meet," explained Deborah.

"Er, I don't know… "

"Please come. I promise you won't be disappointed," she genuinely pleaded with a smile in her voice.

On the other side of the phone, a robe-clad Drake leaned back in his Italian leather chair with a glass of Bourbon perched at his lips.

"What makes you so sure?" he lightheartedly persisted, taking of sip of the deep copper liquid.

"Everything about her. You won't be able to resist—"

"Alright… I suppose I can _at least_ stop by to check out this dame. You know how much I hate these sorts of fancy functions… but it _is_ raising money for those poor, hungry children. Ah, what the hell. Just tell me when."

She happily relayed him all the information about the event night—parking, times, and where to be.

"There's just one thing I'd like to ask Deborah," he said, a hint of curiosity evident in his voice.

"Hm?"

"What's in it for _you_?"

"Oh Drake, absolutely _nothing_! Nothing at all. Nothing more than the feeling of helping out a dear friend. Goodbye now!"

Drake new that Deborah _never _did anything just for the good of another person. Somehow, he knew she would be getting something out it, even if she wasn't about to tell him what exactly that _something_ was.

Deborah ended the conversation and closed her phone. She looked at herself in the bathroom mirror and reapplied glittery pink lip-gloss on her lips. As soon as she was done, she broke out into a wide, devilish smirk. She was just too proud of herself.

_I can't help it if helping out a dear friend will help me out as well… _

"I'm _so_ good!" she arrogantly stated aloud and then walked out in a poised strut.


	26. Twenty Six

**26. **

Fran fumbled with the tricky clasp of a gorgeous pearl necklace as she sat at her vanity. She was getting herself ready for the annual "Feed the Children: Global Mission" benefit ball that collected donated money for food and canned goods that would be sent to less-fortunate, third-world countries. Anyone who was _anyone_ in New York show biz attended. It was also basically a gathering ground for business of any kind; an elegant sort of affair that promised fine wine, good entertainment, charity auctions, and a lavish buffet. Deborah asked Maxwell to escort her early on in the week, and since he had already told her that he wasn't attending it with anyone else, he had no way of getting out of her so-called "friendly" suggestion without hurting her feelings. At least it wouldn't be too bad though, because Deborah _had_ persuaded Fran to come along with them as strange as that was. At first, Fran really wasn't into the idea of being a third-wheel, but Deborah promised that showing up would prove to be worth it since there apparently was some amazing guy there that Debbie wanted her to meet. Max was completely unaware of this "other guy" though and Debbie lied to Fran saying that the man she wanted to introduce her to was a good buddy of her relative Todd Oldham. Apparently, the man had a keen sense of fashion and was well-known in the designer world.

Maxwell passed by her open room on his way downstairs. He suddenly stopped and backtracked to her doorway again. He stood silent, just admiring her for a little over a minute. She looked absolutely stunning tonight with her hair pulled up in a fancy up-do and a few stray ringlets of hair framing her face. Fran was truly a lady in red, attired in a rightfully short, scarlet-colored lace and satin dress.

Fran quickly noticed Maxwell's drooling mouth in the mirror that hung on the wall above her vanity.

"How long have you been standing there?" she casually questioned, with a wide grin stretched across her face.

He shook his head and composed himself. "Ahem, ah… sorry Miss Fine. I was only passing by. I didn't mean to disturb you."

"Oh no, no! That's quite alright Mr. Sheffield!" she said, still smiling.

"By the way… you look absolutely _breath-taking_ in that dress."

Fran somewhat shyly lowered her head to look at her shoes while she smoothed a hand over her hair. She let out a soft giggle.

"Thank you. And I must say, you look positively _dashing_ in that suit."

Maxwell immediately became confident in his own skin upon hearing the compliment and he returned a grin. He truly did value her opinion, and was glad that he had chosen one of her favorite suits of his—a sophisticated and mysterious jet black getup.

"Well, try not to be too long now, the driver shall be ready with the limo shortly," he informed her, as he turned to leave.

"Oh, I'm just finishing up now," replied Fran after him, as she placed her blusher brush down on the vanity top.

Max had only walked a few more steps down the hall, when he stopped himself again. He had the most brilliant idea! He should take Miss Fine out to dinner to a five-star restaurant. He really owed it to her after… well—_everything_!

He returned to the threshold of her doorway and knocked on the open door to the side to get her attention. She turned her head towards him, an inquisitive look in her beautiful brown, long-lashed eyes. Just looking at her with the way she looked tonight almost made him lose his nerve.

"Miss Fine… what do you ah, what do you say that after the benefit, we uh catch a little something to eat?"

"I thought there was going to be appetizers and cocktail snacks?"

He bit his lip in hesitation and wrung his hands.

_Why does she have to ask so many questions? Is she dodging the invite? _

"Well yes, but nothing too _filling_. Surely you'll be hungry afterwards…"

Fran broke into a grin. "_My, my_ you know me too well, I'm afraid!"

"So," began Fran, trying to subdue her excitement. "What exactly did you have in mind?"

"Well, I was thinking something along the lines of an… intimate table for two? What do you say?"

"A date? Oh, Mr. Sheffield!"

"A date… an outing… a friendly _excursion_… call it whatever you may. I'd just really like to spend some time with you. _Alone. _We've rarely had any quality time together and we've both been so busy lately—you with the children, and uh—well, me with the theater and all."

_Omg! _thought Fran._ He's finally taking the ultimate plunge! I'd better reply back quickly before he changes his mind and takes everything back in a heartbeat. _

"Of course I'll go!"

"Good, good then it's settled."

"But only on one condition," added Fran at the last minute.

"And what exactly would that be Miss Fine?" questioned Maxwell, eyeing her oddly.

Fran smirked and thoughtfully ran the side edge of her index finger across her chin.

"That we ditch Deborah."


	27. Twenty Seven

**27. **

It was quite the beautiful evening outside during the night of the Benefit Ball. It was surprisingly warm, with a gentle breeze and the moon hung high and bright in the starry night sky. Inside, the band stroke up an old, catchy, classical/jazzy tune and the many feet of prominent investors made their way out onto the dance floor. Meanwhile, in one corner of the vast room…

A tall, handsome man with lots of shaggy, thick dark brown hair that was streaked with attractive jet black strands in the front and underneath, stood off to the side amongst the shadows; chatting with a few desperate women. He had a slimmer-but-tough-looking physique, creamy light skin, beautiful turquoise eyes that were like a tranquil Caribbean ocean and an overall "dark" bad-boy air about him as well. The ladies engulfed by his company noticed—noticed very much and were pining for him at that very second. Considering, the well-known fact he was recently named one of New York's most eligible bachelors and appeared in the latest issue of Spin magazine after all…

He was donned in a black suit of pinstripe, but he wore no tie and the white dress shirt inside was not even tucked in. Several buttons of his were undone as well, to give a sexy appeal. Drake Wilder seemed to like to wear his suits messy and the studded black belt didn't exactly speak elegance either. However, all of this just made him more alarmingly dashing than he already was. He was an older rocker with much more respect, because of the fact that most of his lyrics came from the wonderful poetry he wrote and the music—always exciting and entrancing. Even his periods experimenting with the both the indie and techno-scene only made his songs more enjoyable.

Deborah haughtily pushed her way through the crowd of the rich, the famous, the drag-alongs and/or the party crashers, pulling Fran behind. Maxwell was left far behind with C.C., sipping a martini and in deep conversation with a crowd of prosperous theatre-goers who were looking to mingle.

"Debs, _where_ are you taking me?" queried Fran in a bubbly, giggly voice (she had downed a little too much champagne,) as she was led to the complete opposite end of the gigantic ballroom.

"You'll see," replied Deborah, smirking.

"Tell me what you're up too—"Fran began, but then halted the sentence as soon as her eyes found a distant, but familiar face amongst a circle of people.

Fran stopped dead in her tracks as a flood of emotions broke lose from within that she had long forgotten and could have sworn had dashed in a no-longer operable safe in the way back of her mind.

"OH MY GOD!" she said, pronouncing the words slowly and softly. "It—it isn't _possible_."

She shook her head and closed her eyes. Deborah came closer to her and extended her arm, pinching Fran.

"Ow!"

"It's possible… and I'm taking you over there," announced Debbie, grabbing Fran's arm, but Fran robustly let go of her grasp.

"No way!" she protested.

"Aw, c'mon. I told you there'd be a surprise!"

"No… I—I can't. He probably doesn't even remember about me or even care," said Fran, turning her head down in despair. "I'd only get hurt."

"Oh, whatever. I have a hunch that he'd be happy as hell just to be graced by your presence for even a _short_ amount of time."

Before Fran could even try to answer, she was suddenly dragged toward the group of gushing women surrounding the man and by then; when Fran realized what was going on, it was too late.

"Hey Drakie!" hollered acquaintance Deborah Blackwood to Drake Wilder, cutting through the admirers with Fran right behind.

"Deborah, hi—" began Drake in greeting, but his eyes soon fell and stayed upon the dark-haired beauty beside her.

"Drake... WELL I'm _sure_ you know Fran, how could you not?" said Deborah, in an introducing-like manner that had a humorous nature to it considering the two people once knew each other very well, very well indeed.

"I'll leave you two alone," announced Deb, walking off hastily, for she wanted to take advantage of as much time alone with Maxwell as she could.

Drake ran a nervous hand through his hair and gazed deeply at Fran, while she looked away from him, not being able to meet his eyes, and stood silent.

The other ladies too backed away, but in jealousy, because the look on Drake's face was crystal clear in telling that he wasn't interested in _them _whatsoever. Plus, Deborah had somewhat "shooed them away," all in attempt to further exceed in her plan.

"Fran… it's been so long…" he began, in a sensual but soothing voice as he reached a few fingers out, hesitated, and then placed them right underneath her chin. When he lifted her face to turn her towards him, he saw tears brimming in her eyes and one was already traveling its way down her cheek—he wiped it away with his thumb.

"Why must you cry, my love, in sight of me? It causes me great sadness…"

"Oh Drake, I just—I'm just _so_ _happy_ to see you again; this doesn't seem real."

"To me as well, Frannie. All of this feels like some sort of marvelous dream," he agreed, cupping the sides of her face and then weaving his fingers through her curls.

"Ohhh… your skin, so_ heavenly_ soft; your hair… so _silkily_ lustrous; your eyes so… so _deep_ and hypnotizing…" Drake sighed softly. "It's all coming back to me now—like it was only yesterday when I last held you in my arms."

She placed her hand on his shoulder, slowly pulling it down until it was underneath his chest and then Fran looked him straight on.

"I—I know."

"If you would just let me hold you," requested Drake.

Fran nodded, bashfully.

He gingerly moved in closer, as if she was a stranger to him, and he gradually wrapped his arms around her. He squeezed her so softly; it was like he thought of her as some fragile porcelain doll that could easily shatter and break with even the slightest of touch. They embraced for quite some time like that and he had a hard time letting go of her.

An awkward silence fell between them afterwards.

It wasn't fair! How could life be so cruel? He finally met up again with the one woman he loved indefinitely and yet now, when he was finally able to have her, he couldn't for various complicated reasons that he didn't want to presently bother her with.

A lone tear fell down Drake's cheek.

"I've missed you, you know."

Fran leaned on her toes and gave him a quick peck on the lips to ease his sorrow.

"Whatever happened to us?" asked Fran, looking him in the eyes.

Drake Wilder walked away from Fran and entered a nearby balcony that overlooked a quiet, desolate street. He stood at the very end of it with his hands resting on the edge. Fran followed him until she was standing right next to him.

"Ever—ever since you left Fran, I could never forget you," he began, looking up at the stars lighting up the dreary night sky.

Fran stood unusually quiet and let him continue.

"Nothing seemed to matter anymore… that's why—I well, I eventually left my wife a few years ago. I felt so wrong for leading her on and it didn't matter anymore whether or not she birthed my child—even though she did, because I just couldn't let her _believe_ that I still loved her when my heart belonged to someone else. You know, it just wasn't right… oh course she was bothered by it but she eventually agreed to let me go. She knew something was going on with me even though I never told her about us, and she even mentioned before I left that she'd lost me long ago."

"God dammit Drake!" said Fran softly but harshly, beginning to get tearful.

She turned her back and slowly took steps away from him. "That's exactly _why_ I decided to leave in the first place—I never wanted to break up your marriage! It's so _horrible_… I feel horrible. Don't you see what we've done? What we _did_?"

Drake caught up with Fran and laced his hand through hers, soothingly rubbing his thumb over her skin.

"Yes and it's my fault in the beginning and I fully blame myself for what occurred between me and my wife. You, however, have nothing to do with it."

She angrily released herself from his grasp.

"Nothing… _nothing_? Nothing to do with it? I had a hell of a lot to do with it! I was the other woman!"

"Only because I chose for it to be that way."

"But I didn't even care then either. I wanted to be with you just as much as you wanted to be with me."

"And what's so wrong about that? It wasn't just a one-night-stand Fran. I needed to keep seeing you! I had to be around you! I… I married my wife too young. Way back then, I just didn't know what love was! The only thing I knew was that I cared for Karen deeply. Then, I met _you_. And God, you were only supposed to pretend to be my lover in that goddamn music video of mine, but there was such chemistry between us. I know you noticed it too. There was just no denying it and therefore, I felt the urge to see you again…"

Fran stood silent, and let him continue reliving their past and how they came to be together way back when. She never really did find out what it was that drew Drake to liking her so much.

Drake leaned against a large stone pillar by the window and nervously fingered the burgundy drapery enclosing it before he carried on.

"…So I talked to your friend Deborah one night after one of my shows. She was flirting uncontrollably with me and she hinted that she wanted me to sleep with her. I declined as gently as I could and then questioned her about you. She became a bit irked when she realized I didn't have my sights set on her _personally_, but she did relay some helpful information. I found out that you did, indeed, think I was attractive and that you were completely unaware I was involved with anyone romantically. Which, of course I evidently used to my advantage."

Fran shot him a hurtful glare.

"Yeah Drake Wilder, you were such a jerk that you lied to me and said that you were single… just to get into my pants!" spat out Fran, clearly upset.

"No! NO! That's _not_ it. I just knew that the only way I'd have a chance with you was if I told you I was available. Deborah told me you were too good of a person to _ever_ be interested in anyone taken and that you would under no circumstances, be involved in an affair of any sort, especially with someone's husband."

"See you knew! You knew how I felt about it, but you didn't care!"

"It was selfish, yes, but I had to get close to you. God, it was like love at first sight or something. And when we went on our first date… it was just so magical. Me and you—we were so alike, but yet, so different. You made me feel relaxed _and_ surprised. I've never enjoyed someone's company like I enjoyed yours. We had the most enjoyable, amazingly fun time. You know we did, and it was basically the same for our following outings. But then, one night… one glorious night you allowed me to take you into my hotel room…"

Drake strode up to Fran and wrapped his arms around her from behind before he continued.

"And I laid you on my bed and generously removed each article of your clothing… one by one."

He gently unclasped her necklace and slid it off her collarbone. She cupped it in her hand.

"And each time I got rid of something you were wearing, I'd taste and caress the newly bare skin…"

Drake stroked her neck with the tips of a few of his fingers and then brought his lips to the same area. He ran his tongue across the area where her shoulder met her neck, and she pleasurably quivered and sighed.

"God Fran," he choked, coming out of his trance, but still holding her tight. "I swear I buried myself so deep within your body till we became one that night. Our hearts pounding in unison to the same rhythm…"

"Drake… Drake, please stop. Everyone's around," pleaded Fran, urgently, with her arms held straight down in retaliation.

"I assure you my dear, not a single soul can see us here."

"It doesn't matter! This isn't right… I'm _sorry_."

"Isn't _right_?" gasped Drake, pulling his dark hair back off his forehead with a swipe of his hand. "It's the most right thing in the world!"

"Maybe to you, but not to me," admitted Fran, lowering her eyes.

"I don't understand my love. Surely, you're mistaken."

He took a step forward towards her, fear rising within his being. How could she not feel what he was feeling? It was utterly impossible!

"I wish I was, but I'm not. You see I'm kind of, sort of involved with someone at the present time and he makes me very happy."

"You're engaged Fran? Married?" asked Drake, surprised and more than a little hurt.

"Well, yes… I mean—_no_! But I'm deeply care for him and things have finally started to work out between us. The fact is that I really shouldn't even be talking to you right now while he is on the other end of the building conversing with his fellow investors. He wouldn't like it _at all_ if he knew. Excuse me—"

"Fran, no! _Wait_!"

"Drake—oh Drake, I _love_ Maxwell with all my heart… and it took us so long just to be together. I mean, we're not actually together _yet_, but we will be in time. I just—you know, cherish every moment that I get the opportunity to be in his arms… as well as dreading every time we're apart."

"All of your heart Fran? You don't even have a small section of it left for me? You're not even truly his yet! Give me time to change your mind… Please? It's my only request."

"What we _had_ was amazing, yes… but that's all in the past now and you need to accept that. It _needs _to stay in the past! I'll always love you—just never as much as I love Maxwell Sheffield. I really hate to end it like this and I'm so sorry if I hurt you tonight and ruined any plans of yours for us to have a future together."

"Don't worry… I'll be back. You can count on it. This Maxwell Sheffield is no match!"

"Do what you want Drake Wilder, but you won't have_ any_ luck with me."

"We'll see about that," whispered Drake as she left. "We _shall _see…"


	28. Twenty Eight

A/N: So sorry for the delay, unavoidable circumstances and such... I promise I'll make it up to you guys though : )

* * *

**28.**

"Yes, yes I really do agree. Proper lighting makes all the difference in a stage production and it can truly make a scene appear absolutely—"

Maxwell stopped talking to Director Fredrick DeCarlo in mid-sentence. As he was gazing over his guest's shoulder, he caught sight of something (ahem, _someone_) fascinating. It was Miss Fine and she was leaning up against a pillar near the buffet table, delicately snacking on a crab cake. When she finished, she touched a few fingers to her mouth to remove the remaining crumbs and then she brought her palms down to smooth out a few creases in her dress. Never in his entire life, before this moment, had he found a woman to appear so appealing... so _sexy _whilst devouring her food. But then again, he had never met a woman quite like Miss Fine.

"Breathtaking," he finished, his eyes sparkling.

"Maxwell?" asked Mr. DeCarlo, concerned for Max's abrupt pause and loss of attention.

Swinging his head around, he tried to locate whoever Maxwell was looking at. There were too many people though, and the attempt proved fruitless.

"Ah, I'm sorry Fredrick. Please excuse me if you will; there's someone dear to me that needs my attending."

"Of course Max."

_God, she looks absolutely heavenly in that red satin and lace evening dress... Why on earth did I leave her alone?_

As he came closer to approaching his favorite nanny, he noticed, with much discontent, a sort of far off look in her eyes along with her lips being twisted into a small frown. He knew she felt out of place here and he mentally chided himself for not looking after her and keeping her company. It had been terribly difficult for him to slip away though—what with numerous unwanted advances from Deborah and fans bombarding him with questions about his upcoming musical every five seconds.

Maxwell Sheffield sauntered over to her, brazenly grabbing Fran around the waist and pulling her close. He leaned his nose down towards the nape of her neck. While inhaling her luscious scent through his nostrils, he openly expressed his curiosity in her disappearance and the longing he felt in reaction to his sudden loss of companionship. Hell, he hadn't even publicly announced they were a couple and already, he was treating her like she was his girlfriend or something. Usually it was uncharacteristic of him to do such a thing... not to mention, a risky career move. After all, many people tonight probably wouldn't take his "hooking up" with the help lightly. At this very moment, C.C. was already fuming from across the room, desperately trying to distract her buddies at the cocktail bar so that they wouldn't catch a glimpse of Maxwell and... that... _that_ wretched Nanny Fine.

"Where have you been the whole night Miss Fine? I've _missed_ you!"

He had caught her off-guard and she wasn't exactly sure how to react. Had Deborah said anything? Had he seen her with Drake?

"Oh you know, here and there," she vaguely replied with a small smile.

"I would have loved to have had your help schmoozing investors."

"Hmpf! Last time I was with you for one of these social events, you told me it was better if I kept quiet."

"That's because _those_ people had a stick up their you-know-what Miss Fine._ These _people would have _loved_ your upbeat personality," explained Max.

"Oh... _ok_," she said, understanding.

Guilt getting the better of her, Fran decided she would let spill a _little_ more of what happened tonight. Well, sort of.

"Deborah had me talking to that fashion guru for about an hour. You know, he doesn't even like faux fur. He _actually_ uses the real stuff."

"That's terrible Miss Fine. And that Deborah woman is absolutely _intolerable_, confessed Maxwell. "She assured me that I'd be escorting a '_friend_.' Can you believe she made a pass at me?"

"Noooo... _Really_?" she questioned.

"I mean, I know I'm a good-looking gentleman but—"

"Mr. Sheffield, don't flatter yourself."

He gave her a look.

"Hey, you didn't let me finish," she laughed, moving in closer to him. She touched a hand to his shoulder and lowered her voice to a sultry whisper near his ear. "_Don't _flatter yourself because _you_ wouldn't do _you_ justice. You're unbearably handsome, smooth, and sophisticated. Any woman who doesn't find you even the slightest bit attractive is obviously out of her mind. You truly cannot blame Debbie for acting on instinct."

"And how exactly would _you_ act on instinct Miss Fine?"

He regretted saying the words, but it was too late now... they were already out of his mouth. Maybe if he was lucky she would think the question was innocent and would then respond with an innocent answer. Ha, not a chance! Miss Fine found nearly everything provocative.

"Well Mr. Sheffield, my first choice—well, let's just say it wouldn't be looked upon too highly if done publicly. But my second choice... I'd act on instinct by doing this."

She stood up on her toes, wrapped her arms around his neck, and collided her mouth into his own with a passion-fueled intensity.

Minutes ticked on and he still allowed her to hold her lips to his. Fran eventually drew back, stunned. She had _ended_ the kiss! It was the first time she actually had the opportunity. _He_ had given it to her. Countless times before he was the one to pull the plug and it was weird for her to have that power now. It was strange to have him not _regret _what he was doing...

It was also the first time he truly wanted to be kissed by her. And he enjoyed it? He had to of...

_Wow. Wow. WOW!_

Could they have kissed for the rest of tonight? Forever? The possibilities were endless.

"That's quite the sufficient answer," he said finally, happy to have her in his arms.

"So I thought," murmured Fran.

He delicately stroked her hair, already feeling the void of her missing lips.

"Well, thank you Miss Fine, but the only _acting _Deborah needs to be doing is in my musical production. And apparently she has other ideas in mind."

"You didn't fire her did you?" asked Fran, somewhat concerned.

She lifted her head up a bit to look at him.

"Who?" asked Maxwell, more than a little caught up in the moment. "Oh, oh right. No... of course not!" But at least she bloody knows better than to try that again. Otherwise, her job will be in jeopardy."

"Good, because next time she tries it again, _I_ might have to get involved."

"And why is that Miss Fine?"

"Because you're _all_ _mine_," she replied, simply and winked at him. "Every single, solitary inch of you."

He visibly gulped as she partially embraced him and ran her fingers across his chest and then his arm...

"You know, I wanted so dreadfully to come and find you, but people kept approaching me," admitted Max. "I _thought_ our plan was to get rid of her anyway."

"Ugh, I know," whined Fran, resting her head against his chest.

They slowly shuffled their feet together to the music playing.

"So what happened to Ms. Blackwood anyway?"

"She left. She was thoroughly annoyed that I wasn't paying her any attention and that I wasn't available to meet some Drake fellow."

Fran gasped.

_Did Deborah set me up? _

She apparently wanted Maxwell to herself. And then when the moment was right, she wanted him to see Fran and Drake Wilder together. That had to have been it!

"Is something wrong Miss Fine?" questioned Maxwell, pulling back from her.

"Nothing... I was just wondering when you were going to take me to dinner."

She smiled and impatiently placed her hands on her hips. He chuckled at her response and rolled his eyes. Lightly grabbing up her hand and holding it with his own, he led her out of the ballroom.


	29. Twenty Nine

**29.**

Fran brought a glass of water to her lips and tried to appear as if she was staying on track with whatever the hell it was Maxwell was saying; nodding her head and "uh huh"-ing whenever it seemed necessary. He was probably discussing something about the ball... or the theatre... or maybe even the children... and she really _should_ have been listening—hell, he always paid attention to her silly babblings about her mother—but her mind had traveled far elsewhere ever since that surprising encounter with Drake Wilder. He was the last person on earth she would have ever expected to see again, yet there he was in flesh. Willing and ready to be hers again...

She didn't want to think about it—about _him_! Especially, while sharing an intimate table for two with a person who should be her main focus at the moment instead of an afterthought.

_God, why oh why can't I get him out of my head? Stupid rock star ex-boyfriend... always treated me terribly anyway. But oh could he kiss or what? Those gorgeous, soft lips of his would always pull me under. _

Fran soon found herself humming a song in her head that just happened to be one that Drake used to serenade her with on her birthday since it was one of her favorites.

She was even more startled when Maxwell's tender hand reached from across the white linen table cloth to gather hers. He then brought it to his cheek to caress. It was a very soothing gesture and she faintly smiled.

Ugh, she was absolutely torn!

But who to choose?

Even though she had told Drake that things were over between them, her heart was telling her otherwise. And what about Maxwell? He was finally acting on his feelings—feelings Fran wasn't even aware he even had for her until now—and showing her that he really was as suave and exciting as the men in her romance novels and soap operas instead of just some regular ol' stuffy Broadway producer.

Wasn't it impossible to love two people at once though? And even if it wasn't, it still wasn't right. Someone was going to get hurt, probably even herself. But not tonight... she wasn't going to make any life-altering decisions tonight. She'd have to sleep on it and think about it for a few days.

Fran gently removed her hand from Maxwell's grasp, using it to pick up her spoon and deposit some delightful spicy Spanish rice into her delicate mouth.

"Miss Fine, you're being awfully quiet this evening," noticed Maxwell, trying to catch her gaze.

Fran swallowed and met his eyes.

"Oh, Mr. Sheffield, I'm sorry!" replied Fran quickly, a bit alarmed, but not showing it because she didn't want him to be suspicious. "I think all that dancing and champagne tonight has made me more than a little exhausted."

Maxwell nodded, understanding.

"Yes, and it is getting quite late isn't it?" said Maxwell, pulling up his suit sleeve to check the time on his expensive gold Rolex.

"Time does fly when you're having fun," laughed Fran, lightheartedly.

That seemed to be the right thing to say and he looked pleased.

"Well, since I've already paid the check, we can leave whenever you're ready Miss Fine."

"Oh, I'm done! Thank you so much for the dinner... I wasn't even aware I was so hungry and I've never even heard of this place before. It's very adorable. Especially, with all the scenic pictures of Europe..."

Her voice trailed off.

"You are most welcome and yes, we truly must go—err, _come_—again," he replied, the word Europe catching him off-guard too and reminding him of their little rendezvous in London _and _Paris.

They both had a lot of fond memories of themselves together in Europe after all...

"Will there be a next time... _Maxwell_?" she timidly questioned, just loud enough for him to hear.

He leaned in close to her neck, his warm, smiling lips just grazing her ear.

"Oh course... _Fran_," he whispered.

She outright blushed at his use of her first name and let him help her into her stylish wool coat.

When they exited the restaurant and stood outside underneath the awning, Fran made note of the cold air.

"The driver should be here shortly... he said he was only around the corner when he called. I could hold you closer if you'd like, hmm?"

"I would like that very much."

As Fran embraced Maxwell, she looked beyond him to across the street. She was immediately shocked when she recognized the mysterious figure standing beneath a streetlight. Her smile immediately faltered. It was Drake Wilder.

Was he stalking her? Following her and Maxwell around? No... such an idea was positively ludicrous. It had to be a coincidence. It just had to be.

_He's staring right at me though. Oh, I have a feeling he's not letting go of me so soon... he seems to be sticking to his words. _

Maxwell pulled away from Fran to look at her.

"Are you feeling light-headed Miss Fine? You look a bit ill all of a sudden..."

In truth, she was sick. Sick of Drake Wilder and this madness of the heart he caused her to go through. Drake wasn't giving up and that's what worried her. Part of her loved the attention, but the other part was a bit unnerved by his obvious obsession. He was just dangerous... and not just to her relationship with Maxwell.

"No—no, I'm fine. I'm s-sure it's nothing."

Fran let out a breath she didn't realize she had been holding as the limo pulled up alongside the curb and she stepped in.


End file.
